


Payment In Full

by the-wandering-whumper (water_4_willows)



Category: Chicago Med, Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: 3x01, AU, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Blood, Broken Bones, Bruises, Collapsed lung, Fix It Fic, Gen, Hurt Will, Hurt jay halstead, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Some bad language, Splenectomy, Surgery, Torture, Vague mentions of possible past child abuse, Whump, cause them writers always need help in the whump department, chest tube, copious amounts of whump, hurt jay, hurt will halstead, man tears, mentions of manstead, sibling angst, so many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/water_4_willows/pseuds/the-wandering-whumper
Summary: Jay’s job is inherently dangerous. Hell, so is Will’s. They each go to work every morning not knowing what’s going to happen next, and it’s a risk. A risk that neither one of them has any problem with taking. They are necessary evils in a world continuously trying to tear itself apart.  It’s just that, every so often, somebody’s got to pay the piper.A 3x01 whump fix it fic in which Jay doesn't get to walk away from his kidnapping and torture.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the effervescent bromanceandships for help with the medical and for being a beta. Without her infinite patience, this fic would be half as long and completely medically inaccurate. And to LadyRiesling, my grammar Queen, my friend forever, and probably the only other person on the planet who is going to get that M*A*S*H reference, for the beta.
> 
> You'll have to strain credulity a bit on the timeline. I'm well aware Med wasn't running when this ep of PD ran, but its fan fiction.

There’s a moment right after they die when everything goes still.  Doctors don't have a name for it, but it's there all the same.  It comes right after the last shock is administered or the final breath is taken, but before the nurses have time to silence the alarms.  Sometimes the moment is expected, and other times it comes as such a shock, it’s like a punch in the gut.  No one ever explained to Will Halstead that moments like these would happen, and after years of practicing medicine, they still manage to take him by surprise when they do.

“Time of death,” he says angrily, handing the paddles back to the nurse and stripping the blood -covered gloves from his hands, “…10:47am.”  Will turns on his heel and heads for the door, leaving before Natalie can say anything to him.  He knows what comes next, because he’s lived this moment before.  She'll look up at him from over her mask, eyes heavy with pity and trying to convey that this is not his fault; that he did everything he could.  But he has no time for thoughts like that.  What good are they anyway?  They won’t help him and they certainly won't help the thirty-something mother lying dead on his exam table.

Will tugs the blood-spattered gown from his torso and slams it into the biohazard receptacle on his way out of the room.  There are anxious family members waiting for him, but he doesn’t head toward the waiting room, not right away.  Instead, he pauses just outside the exam room door, thankful Maggie put them in one of the bays tucked farther back in the ER, and collapses against the plexiglass.  All around him life goes on; machines wail and people yell.  It’s chaotic and loud and normal and yet all he wants to do is scream at it all, make someone understand that something monumental has happened.  A light has gone out in the world and this moment should be acknowledged and respected.  But death doesn’t work that way.  He doesn’t work that way.  Its rule number one.  People die.  And, as someone once observed, doctors can’t change rule number one.  
  
Will pushes away from the glass just as Natalie emerges, hoping she doesn’t notice the way his eyes have misted over ever so slightly.  He hasn’t actually cried over a patient in years, but every once in a while he comes close.  It’s a symptom, he figures, of the frustration, and of allowing himself to get too close to the people he treats.  It’s gotten him into trouble in the past, probably will again, but sometimes he just needs to let himself feel.  
  
“I’ll go talk to them,” Natalie offers, inclining her head ever so slightly towards the ER waiting room and the family waiting anxiously there for news.  
  
“No, I’m ok,” he replies, hoping his words sound a lot more convincing than they feel.  
  
“Together, then?”  
  
He hates to admit it, but it's kind of what he wants.  Normally he's stronger than this, but after today, he’s not about to turn down her offer, nor scoff at one more chance to be near her.  Natalie is like oxygen to him anymore and he’s quickly coming to the realization that he can’t live without her.  It’s messy and it complicates things (for the both of them), but he’s pretty sure he’s not alone in how he feels.  So he nods.    
  
She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, a knowing look on her face, and he resigns himself to the fact that this thing they have will need to remain hidden, at least for a little while longer.  Natalie pulls him forward, and the spell is broken.  They’re a few yards away from the ER waiting room when Maggie steps into their path.  
  
“Goodwin wants to see you in her office, Dr. Halstead,” she announces formally, glancing up from her PDA.  “Now.”  
  
Heat rises up into his face and the tips of his ears burn.  What has he done now to warrant a summons to the hospital administrator’s office?  And in the middle of a shift, no less?  
  
“Can’t it wait?” He asks, voice going high with embarrassment.  “My patient just died.  I’ve got next of kin to notify.”  An ambulance pulls up into the bay as he says this, its red and blue lights reflecting off the tiled walls of the vestibule.  “And it looks like you might need my help, anyway.”  
  
“You need to go up now, Dr. Halstead,” the head nurse says again, so out of character, it startles him.  Outside in the bay the ambulance doors open and then slam shut, the shouts of the paramedics audible even inside.  Any moment now their newest trauma will be rushed in.  
  
“Our patient just died, Maggie!”   Natalie steps in, coming to his rescue.  “I think Goodwin can...”  But her words are cut off as the paramedics from the newly arrived ambulance burst through the doors.  Before Will can even catch a glimpse of the person they are transporting, Maggie is pulling him away by the elbow.  Her grip is so strong, he nearly stumbles.  
  
“What the hell, Maggie!”  He pulls the offended elbow from her grip.  
  
“Goodwin was very specific, Will.  This can’t wait!”  Maggie explains loudly, talking over the paramedics who are giving a rundown of their patient’s vitals to Ethan Choi.  “Choi’s got this.  I’m supposed to send you up there, no matter what you’re doing.” She levels him with a serious gaze.  The one she only seems to reserve for special occasions.  
  
By this time Natalie has moved off to start helping as the patient is wheeled off toward Baghdad, poor bastard.  Will is just about to give in and let Maggie drag him away, when a new figure stumbles into the ER and catches his eye.  He looks over and locks gazes with someone he knows.  
  
“Erin?” he says, taking in the blood-spattered clothing and disheveled-looking appearance of his brother’s partner.  He takes a step towards her, but Maggie blocks his way.  
  
“Will, wait…” she starts, but he ignores her, brushing past and approaching Erin tentatively.  There's a look in her eyes that's not quite right.  It's the same haunted look he's seen in the eyes of countless patients, and it instantly puts him on edge.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
“I’m fine,” she replies curtly, her normally raspy voice even more gravelly than usual.  There are streaks of dried blood visible just under her chin. “Where’s Jay?”  
  
“Jay?” He asks stupidly.  But before she can answer, Alvin Olinsky comes charging in through the ER doors.  Cap slightly askew, he skids to a halt when he catches sight of Will and Erin.  But it’s not until the detective shoots Maggie a worried glance and the head nurse shrugs that Will finally understands what is happening.  
  
“No.”  He says flatly, looking back and forth between the two.  Something icy tingles along his nerve endings, deadening them until all that’s left is a ringing in his ears.    
  
“No.”    
  
Will takes off down the hall without warning, three voices all calling after him and warning him to stop, but he barely registers them.  His heart is pounding away too loudly in his chest, fear wrapping around his airway and making it impossible to breathe.    
  
It can’t be true, it just can’t.  He just saw his brother yesterday at Molly’s where they shared a couple of beers with a few of the guys from the firehouse and watched the Hawks game.  They were literally together a mere few hours ago, so this just can’t be true.  
  
Will collides bodily with one of the paramedics just as he reaches Jay’s room.  It’s Chout, and the sandy-haired driver of Ambulance 83 grabs Will by the arms and doesn’t let him go any further.  
  
“Dr. Halstead, wait a second.”    
  
Will fights against the hands holding him back.  “Let me go!  I have to see!  Is it him?”  The paramedic is surprisingly strong for someone so diminutive, and despite Will’s herculean efforts, Chout manages to keep him out in the hall and away from even seeing into Baghdad.  Maggie, Erin and Olinsky arrive a fraction of a second later.  
  
“Is it him?”  He demands again, this time rounding on Erin and ignoring the shell-shocked look on her face.  “Was that my brother?”  She can’t even answer him.  She just stands there in the hall, opening and closing her mouth like a fish.  “Tell me!”  He yells at her this time and she flinches back as if struck.  What is with everyone today?    
  
Chout has let him go, so Will uses the momentary unease of the group and his own temporary freedom to surge forward.  This time it’s Olinsky who manages to get in his way, but not before he sees.  Not before he finally gets a good look into Baghdad and at what’s going on inside there without him.  
  
Will stands rooted in place, the world dismantling itself right before his eyes as his brain struggles to comprehend what it’s seeing.    
  
It’s Jay.  There’s no doubt about it.  It really is his brother lying there amidst the chaos and the alarms.  Even over the oxygen mask covering most of the lower half of his face and the crisscrossing wires and the hands of the nurses working over him furiously, Will can see that it’s him.  
  
“What the fuck did you do to him!?” he demands.  
  
“Dr. Halstead!”  Maggie admonishes the curse.  He takes no notice and turns on Erin as best he can with Olinsky still holding onto him.  
  
“Tell me what happened.”  People are looking, but he doesn’t care.  He glares over at Erin, waiting for an explanation from his brother's partner.  “Now!”  
  
“We were workin’ a case,” Olinsky answers instead when Erin, who has covered her face with her hands, can’t do it.  They’re still stained red with what Will is pretty sure is Jay’s blood. “He got into it with some thugs.  He’s gonna be fine, Doc.”  Olinsky seems to regret his words almost immediately.  It’s clear from the noises emanating from the room beyond that his brother is not, in fact, ‘fine’.  
  
“No, I want to hear it from her,” Will shoots back angrily, pointing as best he can towards Erin.  Olinsky still has his arms pinned against his sides.  “You’re his partner.  Explain to me how in the hell this happened.”  
  
Erin looks on the verge of tears, but she squares her shoulders and looks over at him defiantly.  While Jay hasn’t talked to him much about what’s been going on between them these past few months, Will knows something’s not right between the partners.  If it has anything to do with why his brother is currently in the ER, fighting for his life, he’s going to murder someone.  
  
“I was talking to him in the back of the ambulance.  He seemed perfectly fine.  They were just about to release him when he started saying it was hard for him to breathe. I don’t know what happened after that.  He crashed, or whatever it is they call it, and the paramedics brought him here.  It happened so fast, Will.  I really don’t know what happened.”  
  
_I really don’t know what happened_ .  Will eyes his brother’s partner critically, trying to both decide if he believes her and attempting to glean what might be wrong with Jay from what she’s just told him.  
  
“You said he got into it with some thugs.  What did they do to him exactly?”  
  
Erin looks at the floor, toeing the edge of a tile with her boot like some child caught in a lie.  For a moment, he’s afraid she won’t answer him.  Anger, hot and molten, rises up in the back of his throat.  “I don’t have time for this.  He,” Will all but yells, nodding towards the exam room and the people yelling there in, “doesn’t have time for this!”  
  
“He got taken, alright?”  She finally admits, arms flopping to her sides in visible defeat and eyes misting over anew as she worries her bottom lip with her teeth.  “Is that what you want to hear?  That they beat the shit out of him, hung him up from the ceiling by his wrists and tortured him with cattle prods right in front of us?  That when I found him, he couldn’t even stand by himself yet was still able to beat the piss out of the guys who were trying to kill me?  Is that the crap you want to hear, Halstead?”  
  
Will blanches as Erin’s words sink in and Olinsky has the good sense to let him go.  “And you two didn’t think my brother being kidnapped was something I ought to know about?”  
  
“Come on, man,” Alvin interjects.  “You know how this goes.  We can’t always come and find you every time a case goes sideways.”  
  
Will stares at Olinsky in disbelief.  His brother has just been kidnapped, brutally beaten and tortured, and here were the elite members of the Chicago PD Intelligence unit basically telling him it was just a normal day at the office.  
  
Will closes his eyes and scrubs his palms over his eyes with a mirthless laugh.  “You better start talking.  And tell me everything.  I need to know exactly what they did to him.  And don’t leave anything out,” he adds, glaring at Erin and Alvin in turn.  “I’m dead serious; my brother’s life may depend on it.”  
  
It’s Erin who tells the story, surprisingly, and when she’s done Will is practically shaking with rage.  It’s a rage not only for the people who hurt his brother, but also for the ones who were supposed to have his back, keep him safe.  Heck, weren’t these the same teammates who were always going on about how much of a family they were?  Or was that just Will projecting what he thought his brother’s job should be like in order to sleep at night?  Whatever it was, someone dropped the ball today and come hell or high water, Will is going to find someone to blame.    
  
Behind them, the frenetic movement in the exam room hitches up a notch and everyone turns just in time to watch Choi and the nurses roll Jay over on his side so that Ethan can listen to his lungs.    
  
“Decreased breath sounds on the left side,” he calls out over the din of the alarms.    
  
Even from the hall Will can see that his brother is in trouble.  His bruised eyes are screwed shut against the pain and he’s panting heavily under the oxygen mask.   Will takes a step forward, but Maggie’s hand on his arm stops him.  
  
“Let them work.  You’ll just be in the way.”  Will meets her eyes, ready to fight, but fear is making him stupid.  All he can do is stand there under its influence with hands balled into fists at his sides as he watches other people treat his brother.  As a doctor, he’s trained to handle high stress situations like these.  When things are at their worst, that’s when he shines.  But this is different.  This is _Jay_ , and there are no rules when it comes to your own flesh and blood.  
  
“Possible pneumothorax.  Let’s get a chest x-ray.  Where’s that IV?”    
  
Will looks back over at his brother.  All the color has drained from Jay’s face and he lets out a pitiful moan when the nurses roll him back over.  The sound slices straight through Will’s heart and tears at the edges of the gaping hole where it should have been.  
  
“One IV access with Saline solution perfusing, Dr. Choi.”  A nurse answers.  
  
Will moves in closer to the open doorway of the exam room and focuses in on his brother’s face, as if sheer force of will alone might convince the elder Halstead to look over at him and proclaim that he’s perfectly fine, convince Will this is all just some kind of joke.  Jay does manage to crack his eyelids open again and turn his head toward Will, but his gaze is not filled with the assurance Will is looking for.  It’s filled with fear.  
  
“Will?”  That’s all it takes, one muffled word.  A word so drenched in agony it makes Will’s teeth ache.    
  
“I’m here,” he calls, and this time, there’s no one there to hold Will back.  He pushes his way into the room, donning a pair of gloves and grabbing for the hand Jay extends and holding on to it for dear life, not caring at all how it looks or who he bowls over in the process to get at him.  
  
“I’m here.  I’ve got you.  I’ve got you, brother.  You’re okay.”  He’s not entirely sure who he’s trying to convince, because Jay is clearly anything but okay.  Every breath is a struggle.  Beneath the oxygen mask, his respirations are short and shallow and his green eyes are bright with panic.  He looks absolutely terrified.    
  
“Halstead,” Choi says with a warning in his voice as Will pulls his stethoscope from around his neck and starts his own cursory exam.  There’s no version of this horror story where Ethan Choi lets him treat his brother, but there’s also no way in hell that Will is going to let anyone else keep him away from Jay.  So he sets his jaw and meets his colleague’s disapproving gaze, putting everything he can’t say out loud (least Jay hear it and become even more agitated than he already is) behind his eyes.  Choi purses his lips, but nods all the same.  
  
“You stay out of my way.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“Will, w-what’s hap-happening?”  Jay’s weak voice barely registers over the commotion in the room, but Will doesn’t miss it.  
  
“You’re at Med,” he explains, trying to recover himself a bit.  He searches for a bit of Jay’s face he can touch that doesn’t sport some bruise or laceration, but can’t find anything.  So he settles on cradling Jay’s clammy hand against his chest, taking comfort in how solid it feels. “Do you remember how you got here?”  
  
Jay thinks about this for a minute, then shakes his head, wincing a bit as he does so.  “H-hurts to breathe.  Feels like a friggin’ el-elephant’s s-sitting on my c-chest.”  Jay paws at his throat with his free hand, like the movement will somehow clear his airway.  The effort strains the IV line and Will eases the arm back down onto the bed.  
  
“I know, buddy, I know,” he says.  “And we're going to figure that out.  Just take it easy and focus on your breathing, okay?  Listen to your big brother for once.” Stupid as it may seem, he’s trying to fall into that easy brotherly banter he and Jay have always shared.  It feels hollow and unhelpful, but it’s all he’s got at the moment.  “Everything’s going to be okay.”  
  
“Halstead, you gotta get out of the way.”  Choi and the nurses are ready for the x-rays, but Will’s not about to let them push him out, not completely at least.  He does move, as instructed, but it’s only to round the head of Jay’s bed and take up position on the other side of him.  The nurses are going to have to sit Jay up to get the x-ray tray under his back and Will can at least help with that.  
  
Choi eyes him warily for a moment, like Will is pushing him just a little farther than he’s willing to go past the “we don’t treat family” line, but the imploring look Will shoots him and the addition of yet another alarm to the cacophony of sound in the room, seems to change his mind yet again.  It’s a strategy game at this point.  Chalk another victory up to the Halstead brothers.  
  
“Okay, on three,” Choi says and Will and a nurse help Jay to sit up as carefully as they can, but the movement still aggravates Jay’s injuries.  He cries out, turning his head and burying his face in Will’s scrubs.    
  
“You got this, Jay.  Come on, it’s almost over,” Will soothes, grabbing the back of his brother’s neck and squeezing.  The tray is placed quickly and Will and the nurse lower a quaking Jay back onto the bed.  His face is flushed from the strain and he’s trying to curl himself up into the fetal position.  The sight of it nearly breaks Will in two.  
  
“Why haven’t you given him something yet?”  He demands of Choi.  The man looks up from the x-ray readout sternly.  
  
“Because he got something in the field.  And because I like to know what I’m dealing with before I give my patients any medications that could potentially harm them,” he snaps, but a beat later his face softens minutely.  “Is there anything I should know about?  Allergies?  Medical conditions?”  
  
Will shakes his head automatically.  His younger brother has always been healthy, a product, like Will, of that world famous Halstead constitution.  The one that comes with unusually long life, and a proclivity for sarcasm and stubbornness.    
  
“5 mg of morphine then, please,” Choi orders, and Will watches as the medicine disappears into the port of his brother's IV.  Up until this point Jay has been restless, clearly in an enormous amount of pain, and Will finds himself willing the meds to work faster.  It’s unnerving to see Jay in so much distress.  
  
“Ok, tension pneumothorax,” Choi announces to the room a moment later, looking up from the x-rays with a frown. “Let’s prep for a chest tube.  And get another IV access going just in case.  
  
“What are his vitals?”  Choi and Will both ask at the same time.  Halstead ducks his head in apology but not before Choi scowls over at him.  Will’s pushing his luck and both men know it.  
  
“BP’s 126/82,” a nurse answers them both.  “Sats are at 93% with oxygen.  Temp, 99.4.  Pulse 98.  Respirations at 32.” . Choi nods at this.  He indicates for Will to switch places with him.  After they do, Will wraps a protective hand around Jay’s wrist, letting the tips of his fingers rest against his brother’s pulse point.  Jay is panting laboriously beneath his oxygen mask again, brow dampened with sweat and forehead crinkled under the strain of the collapsed lung.  
  
“Ch-hest still hurts.”  Piercing green eyes, still very bright with panic, blink up at him.  
  
“I know.  I know it does, Jay.  Just hang on.  Meds will kick in soon,” he promises.  He’s not sure when he dropped the MD in his title for a spot on the cheer team, but hey, whatever works.  
  
Choi is prepping the area of Jay’s torso that will sport the chest tube and while he does, Will finally allows himself to take in the full extent of his brother’s injuries.  
  
The bruises from where he was beaten are livid against Jay’s pale skin.  They’re like an atlas, a brutal roadmap to each and every unapologetic blow his brother was subjected to at the hands of his tormentors.  There are lacerations and shallow cuts covering most of his torso and the sight of it all and the memory of Erin’s words send shivers down Will’s spine and sets the anger in his heart to simmering all over again. When he can’t bear to look anymore, he focuses instead on the monitors above Jay’s bed.  
  
“Sats are down to 89%,” he warns his colleague.  
  
“I’m aware of that, Doctor,” Choi replies with no real anger behind the words, just mild irritation.    
  
When Choi is ready to place the tube, he meets Will’s eyes.  The morphine hasn’t had much time to take effect, but Choi has numbed the area with lidocaine.  Still, placing a chest tube is no small feat.  There’s just no telling how Jay will react.   Will repositions himself at his brother’s side and presses a reassuring hand against his forehead.  “You got this.”  
  
As soon as the steel blade of the scalpel slides across his skin, drawing a thin line of blood that spills over and cascades down his side and Choi starts pushing the tube in, Jay arcs his back against the intrusion and cries out pitifully.  Will does his best to anchor him, but it’s hard.    
  
“It’s almost over.  Just breathe, Jay.  You can do this.”    
  
Tears leak from the sides of his brother’s eyes and he clamps his mouth shut as if trying not to make any more noise.  Will almost wants to tell him to go for it, that nobody here will care or judge him for it, but he can’t seem to make his voice work anymore.  All he can do is watch on helplessly as Choi roughly yet expertly continues to shove the tube in.  Jay huffs against his oxygen mask and Will squeezes his brother’s hand mercilessly.  But it’s not enough.  It’s never enough.  He’s a doctor for heaven’s sake.  He’s supposed to be good at things like this.    
  
When it’s all finally over, and Choi steps back with blood covered hands, it’s like someone has flipped a switch.  Jay’s stuttering breaths slowly ease, coming in longer and longer draws as his lungs finally remember how to work again and he’s able to pull in a proper amount of oxygen.  With each unencumbered breath he manages, the tension in Will’s body seems to dissipate too and he finds himself matching his own breathing to that of his brother's.  Jay, finally relieved of the pressure on his chest, sags back against his pillows looking depleted and gray, but still very much alive.  He even manages to crack his eyes open again and turn his head back towards Will.  
  
“Told ya I’d take care of you,” Will says from behind the fingers he has steepled against his lips.  Jay’s eyelids are heavy with exhaustion and the effects of the pain meds, but they’re still the best thing Will’s ever seen.  
  
“Pretty sure… you had nothing to do with it,” Jay replies a little breathlessly but with a slight smile.  His voice sounds stronger already.  
  
With Jay’s breathing markedly improved, Choi lets Will switch out the oxygen mask for a nasal cannula.  His brother makes a face at it at first, but they both know it's better than the alternative.  After a moment’s pause, Jay begrudgingly allows Will to settle the thing under his nose.  The bruising around Jay’s face looks painful and things are beginning to swell, so Will’s mindful of the livid, purple splotches as he adjusts the cannula so it sits flush against Jay’s skin.  That done, he makes one last adjustment the bed so his brother’s head is elevated and then plops down onto the stool one of the nurses rolls over for him as they wrestle him into a gown.  
  
Crisis averted for the time being, Will pats Jay’s gowned shoulder.  “You doing okay?”  
  
The color has yet to return to his cheeks and Jay looks paler than Will’s ever seen him, but he manages a nod.    
  
“What happened?” He asks.  
  
“Your lung collapsed, that’s what happened.”    
  
Around them the delicate dance of the ER continues; nurses taking vitals and adjusting IVs and Choi and Natalie conversing quietly in one corner.  He thinks maybe he should go over there to see what they’re talking about, but can't bring himself to leave his brother’s side again.   Besides, he still needs to be careful not to give anyone a reason to kick him out.  
  
“Am I okay?”  
  
Will snaps his attention back to his brother.  “Of course you’re okay,” he says automatically, falling into brother mode instead of maintaining the current Dr. Halstead holding pattern.  “We’ve got you stabilized,” he course corrects, “but the IVs and the chest tubes are gonna have to stay in for a while.”  
  
“So I can’t go home?”  
  
Will lets all his air out through his nose and shakes his head at his younger brother’s audacity.  “No, Jay, you can’t go _home_ .  You’ve got to rest.  They just shoved a tube into your chest not five minutes ago!  Not to mention the fact you just got the crap kicked out of you...”  
  
“So you heard about that...”  Jay glances away, worrying at the tape securing the IVs to his arm with a fingernail and inspecting the pattern on his hospital gown, anything to avoid Will’s disappointed frown.  
  
“Yeah, I heard about that.  Your partner told me everything.”  He doesn’t even bother to hide the irritation in his voice as he mentions Erin.  
  
Jay grimaces.  “She talked to you then?”  His breath is still hitching a bit, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was before.  Will glances at the monitors, checks the pulse ox.  Everything still seems to be within acceptable ranges.  
  
“She brought you in and she was covered in blood.  I pretty much made her talk to me.”  
  
Jay shifts on the bed, draping a hand over his midsection.  “Bet that…” he pauses to pull in a lungful of air, “was a fun conversation.”  
  
“You have no idea,” Will snorts, not missing it when Jay winces and shifts restlessly beneath the sheets.  “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” his brother replies.  “Where’s Erin?”  
  
“The waiting room, I think,” Will answers, actually trying to mask his distaste a little this time.  He knows it's not fair.  He actually likes Erin, but the events of the day have skewed his perspective.  Right now, she is the last person in the world he wants to think about or discuss.    
  
“You gotta be more careful, Jay.”  Will realizes how silly that sounds - a doctor telling his cop older brother to be careful, but he just doesn’t care.  The enormity of what has happened today, the fact that Jay could very easily have died in the back of that ambulance, is finally catching up to him now that his brother is relatively stable and seemingly out of the woods.  It’s nudging at him persistently, demanding to be addressed, and he’s not sure he can ignore it any longer.  Jay seems to sense it, too and looks uncomfortable.  Beneath the bruises and the blood, his green eyes are apprehensive.  “We could have lost you.”  Will finally admits.  I _could have lost you_ , is what he really wants to say, but there are people around and the room has gotten quiet again and Jay wouldn’t tolerate a scene like this one is turning out to be under the best of circumstances.  
  
“Yeah...” another breath and another wince, “but you didn’t.”  
  
“Thanks to those paramedics who brought you in.”

Jay shrugs and looks away.  Exhaustion is creeping up on him, Will can see it clearly now.  He’s kind of amazed Jay’s made it this far without passing out on them to begin with.  “I bet you didn’t even want them to check you out, did you?  Stupid pain in the ass.”  Jay laughs a little at that and closes his eyes against something Will can only guess at.    
  
“Are you sure you’re okay?”  He asks for what he’s pretty sure will not be the last time.  
  
Jay seems to contemplate this question for a minute which sets Will on edge.  “I’m just… I don’t…”  He shifts positions on the bed again, almost as if in agitation.    
  
Will touches the side of his arm.  “What’s going on?  Talk to me, bro.”  
  
“It’s nothing,” Jay replies unconvincingly.  Will glances back over at the monitors.  Jay’s pulse is a little elevated, but other than that, everything else still seems fine.   Will’s about to let it go when he notices a thin sheen of sweat has broken out across his brother’s skin.  
  
“Jay?”  
  
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”  Jay tries to lean forward but he can’t seem to manage it.  Panic darkens his features as he looks over at Will with round, desperate eyes.   “S-something’s not right.”  
  
“Hey!”  Will says, grabbing the nurse who’s just walked past.  “Get me a blood pressure.” She nods, forgiving his rudeness, and hands him an emesis basin, just in case Jay decides to make good on his threat to be sick.  The eldest Halstead screws his eyes shut and curls himself over the basin, but mercifully, nothing comes up.  Will leans in close to brush the back of his hand against Jay’s sweat dampened forehead.  The skin there is cold and clammy.    
  
“What’s going on?”  He’s five seconds away from calling Choi back over.  
  
“I don’t know,” Jay gasps, dropping the basin and fisting his hands in the sheets as pain assaults him.    
  
“Blood pressure’s down to 92/64,” the nurse announces to the room and Will pushes up from his stool.  “Pulse is 126!”    
  
Something's not right, those readings are way off.  Choi has noticed it too, and he heads back over, his stethoscope already in his ears.  This time Will is pushed brusquely to one side.  
  
“He’s gonna crash!” He points out frantically, panic surging up from his gut and making him belligerent.  “You missed something!”  
Choi doesn’t even acknowledge him.  Just listens intently to Jay’s chest, then leans over to shine a penlight in his eyes.  “Detective Halstead, what’s going on?  Are you feeling any pain right now?”

“My stomach,” Will hears Jay answer as he grabs for his belly again.  Choi palpitates the area only slightly and Jay practically screams and the sound freezes the blood in Will’s veins all over again.  
  
What calm had been achieved in the exam room previously is shattered as Choi begins issuing orders and everyone picks up the pace.  The head of Jay’s bed is lowered so he’s lying flat on his back and a nurse yanks the cannula off his face and replaces it with the oxygen mask again.  
  
“Someone set up a Foley!”  
  
Alarms wail, and when Choi finally lifts Jay’s gown to check his abdomen, a huge purplish bruise is visible, taking up much of his brother’s left upper quadrant.  
  
“It wasn’t that bad earlier,” Will observes unhelpfully.  Icy tendrils of fear cascade down Will’s spine as all the possibilities of such a bruise rush through his mind.  
  
“Choi…” Will doesn’t know what to do with himself.  He watches on stupidly with a hand covering his mouth as Choi grabs for the ultrasound machine and orders more IV fluids.  Will has been working with Ethan for a long time.  The man doesn’t often let his emotions show, but even Will can tell that he’s worried as he runs the wand over Jay’s abdomen and clicks his tongue at what he sees.  
  
Through all of this, Jay has gone still.  He’s panting against the mask in short, aborted gasps, but his eyes are glassy and he stares up at nothing.  Will has to fight back against the urge to run over to the side of the bed and shake him, demand that he stay with it and stop scaring him.  
  
“Choi, what do you see?”  He asks instead.  The ultrasound machine is pointed away from him, probably on purpose.  He can’t make out what it is that has Choi shaking his head and getting ready to issue more orders.  “Choi!”  
  
“No urine output,” a nurse advises, holding up an empty bag as proof.  Choi swears under his breath and looks over at Will.  
  
“Pain in the left upper quadrant, signs of hypovolemic shock…”  Will thinks out loud for the both of them.  “It’s his spleen.  It’s gotta be.”  Choi’s brow furrows, but Will doesn’t get to know what he’s thinking, because a moment later the cardiac monitor above Jay’s bed begins emitting its own alarms.  
  
“Oh shit!”  The curse slips past his lips unconsciously.  All calm Will managed to hold on to evaporates in an instant.  His panic is a wild animal, rearing up from his center, curling around his spine, and squeezing his heart in vice.  This cannot be happening.  “He’s crashing!”  
  
Will tries to push his way back into the fray, but there’s already too many people in the room.  Natalie, appearing out of nowhere, grabs him by the shoulders when he bumps into a nurse and the instruments she’s carrying go flying across the floor.  
  
“Enough, Will!  Go wait out in the hall.  We’ll do everything we can for him, but you’re not doing him any favors hanging around and getting in the way.  We’ve got him, I promise.”    
  
Promise is a dangerous word, especially in their line of work.  Any other time and he’d be admonishing her for using it, but right now it’s actually something he probably needs to hear.  He pulls it in, holds it close to his center, and tries to believe that it’s true.  
  
Natalie pushes him gently from the room, pulling the curtain across the doorway and blocking his view of his brother once he’s clear.  Will doesn’t stop walking just because she’s let go.  He keeps stumbling backwards until his lower back comes in contact with something solid and unmovable.  It’s the counter of the nurse’s station, and he slides down it as his legs give out beneath him.  He lands hard on his ass on the floor.  As the sounds of his colleagues trying to shock his brother back into a normal sinus rhythm reach his ears, he brings his knees up close to his chest and wraps his arms around them.  It’s something he hasn't done since he was a little boy, a coping mechanism for when he had to sit there and listen to his brother get a whipping from their father.  He would cry back then and he cries now, not caring who sees, nor bothering to wipe away the hot tears as they track down his face and gather beneath his chin.  
  
“Will, what happened?”  Jay’s room is right off the busiest section of the ER so it’s no surprise that someone is over at his side before he even has time to break down properly.  It’s Maggie, and the head nurse falls to a knee beside him.  “Is he…”  
  
Will shakes his head, but can’t bring himself to put into words what is obviously happening beyond the curtain separating him from Jay.  All the sounds of the defibrillator and Maggie’s unhelpful banalities mix together into an unintelligible mess inside his head and he covers his ears with his hands against it.  Erin and Olinsky show up, but Will doesn’t bother to get up from the floor.  Maggie rises to talk to them as he focuses all his attention on Jay’s room, begging with the universe to let the curtain move and for Natalie to emerge and tell him everything is going to be fine with his brother.  She does come out several minutes later, but the look on her pretty face is anything but hopeful.  
  
Will pulls himself up from the floor, ignoring Maggie and Erin and Olinsky as he approaches her.  
  
“He’s bleeding internally.  One of the punches he took probably ruptured the spleen.  We’ve got him stabilized for now, but he needs the OR.  They’re sending him up now.”  Natalie moves in closer and touches his arm.  “He’ll be in good hands, Will.  They’ll take good care of him, I promise.”  There’s that word again.  
  
Will throws an angry glance over his shoulder and directly at Erin before he re-enters Jay’s room.  He has hate in his heart at the moment, but that’s going to have to wait.  He maneuvers out of the way as an orderly barrels past, getting ready to move Jay up to surgery but makes it to the side of his brother’s bed.  Jay has been intubated, pale blue ventilator tubing disappearing between slack, colorless lips.  Everything goes still for immeasurable moments.  
  
“He needs to go up now, Will,” Choi says quietly from his elbow, but Will just holds up a hand.  “Alright,” Ethan acquiesces.  “You’ve got about 30 seconds.”  
  
That's all he's going to need.  

Will leans in close to his brother’s head, lets his eyes roam over Jay’s features.  They’re bruised and puffy, but they’re still his; his brother is still there beneath all of it.  His eyes may be closed, but that's Jay.  

Will rests his forehead at Jay’s temple, right near his ear.

“You keep fighting.  I don’t care what you have to do, but you stay alive and you come back to us.  Don’t you dare leave me here all alone with Dad.”  One solitary tear finds its way down from his eyes and drips from the end of his nose, but he somehow manages to hold all the rest of them at bay.  “I love you, little brother.”  
  
When Jay is finally wheeled from the room and on his way to the elevators, everyone crowds in around Will to watch.  He can do little else but stand there, surrounded in most part by the people he blames for what’s happened.  Erin has lost her battle with tears and is crying openly behind him, sobs echoing in the hall.  Any other time and he’d be comforting her, but today he’s just… well he’s not quite sure what he is.  Pissed?  Lost?  Frustrated?  He has no real name for what burns there in his center right now, threatening to bring up whatever’s left in his stomach from breakfast.  He thought it was hate, thought it was worry, but now he can't name it.  
  
Everyone is quiet as Jay disappears into the elevator.  When he’s gone, Will turns on Erin.  
  
“This is your fault,” he pushes out through gritted teeth.  Erin frowns at him.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You did this to him.”  
  
“Will…” Natalie warns, but he brushes her off.  
  
“You saw that, didn’t you?” He snaps, glaring at them each one in turn as he points down the hall and in the direction of his brother.  “You all saw that.  My brother just crashed.  He’s on the way to the OR with a ruptured spleen.  He’s on a fucking _vent_ , Erin!  And it’s all because you didn’t protect him.”  Will crowds into her personal space, getting even angrier when she holds her ground and doesn’t back down.  “You’re his partner!  You’re supposed to have his back!”

“I did have his back, Will!”  Erin yells back.  “Who do you think went in there and saved his ass, huh?  Your brother knew exactly what he was signing up for.  He…”

“Don’t you dare!”  He spits.  “Don’t you dare put this on him!” He surprises even himself by the force of his words.  He’s never talked to another human being like this before in his life.  But panic does strange things to the mind when all hope seems lost.  “I swear to god, Erin, if he dies…” but Will can’t finish his sentence.  He backs away, forms a fist, but instead of aiming it at Erin like everyone seems to think he will, judging by their horrified gasps, he pounds it into the column beside him.  He’s not stupid, he pulls the punch right at the last second, but his knuckles still smart.“Will, enough!” Natalie scolds him.  He takes off down the hall, putting as much distance between himself and the people he blames for all of this as he can.  Natalie follows.  Maggie stays behind to try and calm everyone else down.  
  
“What in the hell was that?” She asks him as he places both hands on a counter and tries to control his breathing.  He must not have been too successful at pulling his punch because his knuckles are angry red and a few of them are actively bleeding.   _Stupid_ .  
  
Will can’t answer Natalie.  He’s not really sure _where_ that came from.  This isn’t the kind of person he is.  But when it comes to the people he loves, when it comes to Jay, he’s a rabid animal.  He can’t see straight.  When it's Jay, there’s no telling the lengths he’ll go.  
  
“Will you go with him?” He asks suddenly, surprising even himself.  
  
“What?” Natalie asks, brow furrowed in confusion when he looks over at her.  
  
“Goodwin’s never going to let me into that OR, and you know it.  So will you go?  Keep an eye on him for me?  Give me updates?”  
  
“Will…”  
  
“ _Please_?  Please, Natalie,” he begs, pushing away from the counter and taking her hands in his.  “I’ve never asked you for anything in my life.  This is my brother.  It’s Jay!  I won't be able to handle it without someone I know in there with him.”  He stares into her big, brown eyes, wanting so desperately in that moment to just grab her by the shoulders and kiss her.  The force of the sudden feeling startles him and he releases her hands and takes a step back.  If she’s wise to what’s just happened, she doesn’t let it show.  
  
“I’ve already got a few people coming in to cover your shifts,” Maggie interjects, walking up to them cautiously.  There’s a look in her eyes that suggests she’s not at all happy about how he’s handling things, but also that she’s willing to do anything and everything she can to help Will get through his.  He nods his thanks to her.  
  
“Alright” Natalie acquiesces.  “Go to the surgery waiting room and stay there.  I’ll make sure you get regular updates. And have someone take care of that hand.”  
  
Will glances down at his bleeding knuckles just as Natalie throws her arms around his neck and pulls him in close. He stiffens in surprise at first, then melts into the embrace a moment later, burying his face into the softness of her skin and allowing himself to be held.  He can feel new tears threatening, but he still won’t let them fall.  There will be plenty of time to break down later, and better places to do it in.  Still, he wraps his arms around her middle and holds on tightly.  She smells just like the hospital, but underneath it all there are hints of something that smells like flowers, and an awful lot like home.  When she pushes away from him a moment later, he watches her go.  Down the hall Erin and Olinsky have been joined by Voight, Ruzak and Atwater; the entire intelligence unit, save Antonio, suddenly now worried for their downed team member, all huddled together near the nurse’s station.  He wants to go yell at them, but the thought of Jay upstairs being prepped for surgery is enough to evaporate all those emotions and replace them with something akin to complete and utter exhaustion.  He has no more energy for violence.  
  
Will walks past the group of intelligence officers, giving them the cold shoulder when they try to talk to him.  Maggie can deal with them for all he cares.  He’s finished.  He’s going to go up to the surgical waiting room and sit there in the uncomfortable chairs like any other terrified family member.  He’s not Will Halstead, MD today.  That person he left in Baghdad.  Today he’s just Will, Jay Halstead’s brother.    
  
Will makes his way to the elevators, not sparing a backwards glance and tries to prepare himself for what he suspects will be the hardest few hours of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to whumplove who provided additional help on the medical during Jay's surgery. Any remaining medical inaccuracies are completely my fault, and due to my utter inability to leave well enough alone. The story has also taken on a life of its own and grown past the 2 chapters I originally had planned. I'll update quicker now, I promise.

Don't ask him how it happens, but Goodwin actually takes pity on Will and allows him to watch Jay's surgery from behind the plated glass of the gallery. There are a few people up there when he arrives, med students mostly - all of them bent over their tablets and scribbling notes, or sitting forward in their chairs and watching the proceedings with that clinical yet morbid fascination interns always seem to have. Whispers ripple through their ranks and they all turn to look at him as he makes a beeline for the front of the room, trying his best to ignore them. Goodwin must give some sort of nonverbal command because a moment later they all start packing up their belongings in silence.

If these were normal circumstances, Will might turn around and thank her for the courtesy. Or hell, better yet, maybe he'd even tell the students to stay. Help them learn something useful for a change. Like how a distraught family member breaks down when they think no is looking. Or what happens when that same frantic family member is allowed to stick around and watch the really gruesome bits. Maybe that's what they need to complete their educations, a feel for what the aftermath of torture _really_ looks like.

But these are not normal circumstances, and Will Halstead doesn't need an audience for what's about to happen. So he stays silent and doesn't move until he hears every last one of them leave the room, even Goodwin. Only when he's sure he's alone does he allow himself to put a hand on the glass and really absorb what's going on below.

They've got Jay secured to the operating table with straps, sterile blue drapes covering most of his body-except for his middle, where the surgeons are working over a complicated mess of blood, clamps, and bruised skin. His brother's eyes have been taped shut and while Will knows this is just a precautionary measure, it's still unsettling to see. The whole thing is unsettling to see, but there's nothing much he can do about that at the moment.

He catches Natalie's eye from below. If his friend is surprised to find him in the gallery, she doesn't let it show. She's situated herself against one wall, just beside the two way intercom, and she presses one of the buttons with a gloved finger. Something clicks above his head and then the sounds of the OR flood the gallery space.

"They've been trying to get the bleeding under control. Should be ready to start removing the spleen soon," her mellow voice explains. "He's doing ok so far." She clicks off and there's silence again. It's loud in that way only silence can be. Will swallows down his unease and settles in for the long haul.

While he can't make out _everything_ from this vantage point up in the gallery, he can see enough of Jay's monitors to know that his brother is stable for the moment. Blood pressure and O2 levels are holding steady and the surgeons are working at a calm and collected pace. Everything seems to be going as it should be, yet Will can't seem to shake this sense of dread. Maybe it's the fact that his little brother is unconscious and intubated on the table below, his innards open and exposed for the world to see. There's something inherently _wrong_ about that, and even his training as a doctor can't override instincts that scream at him that everything about this is all wrong.

He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, all the while reminding himself that these are the best doctors Chicago Med has to offer, and it's high time he put his faith in them. The minutes tick by and he loses himself in his thoughts, almost missing it when someone quietly ambles into the room and comes to stand beside him.

Will flicks his eyes over and sees that it's Connor Rhodes. The cardiothoracic surgeon looks tired, his maroon scrubs wrinkled and speckled with what Will can only imagine is blood.

"Rough day?" Will deadpans and Rhodes chuckles.

"Not as rough as yours, it would seem. I just heard." The surgeon leans forward a little to get a better look at what's going on below. "What the hell happened?"

The last thing Will wants to do is rehash the events of the past several hours, so he gives Rhodes the Reader's Digest version of everything. His colleague takes it all in, arms crossed over his chest as he nods in all the appropriate places.

"So they're doing an emergency splenectomy," Rhodes says more to himself than to Will when Will finally finishes his tale. Connor scratches at his chin. "That's a pretty simple procedure, and Philips is the best at it," he goes on, tilting his head towards the doctors below. "Your brother should… _Christ_ , Halstead! What happened to your hand?"

"What?" Will asks, startled by the sudden shift in their conversation.

"Your hand," Rhodes repeats, pointing. "It's bleeding."

Will glances down. Sure enough, blood is soaking into the cuff of the white long sleeved t-shirt he wore this morning after the weatherman informed him that wind chills were supposed to dip temperatures well into the -20s today. It's staining the fabric bright red. He lifts the hand, makes a fist, and it earns him a throb of pain as the skin re-splits and fresh blood oozes out. In the craziness of trying to get up to the surgery waiting room as fast as he could, and then meeting Goodwin in the hall, he'd completely forgotten about his hand.

"Huh." He grunts at it stupidly

"Hold on a sec. I've got some supplies in my office." Rhodes is halfway to the door before Will even has time to register what the man's just said. He calls after the surgeon, but Connor has already disappeared through the door. When he returns a few minutes later he's got a few basic medical supplies with him. There are antiseptic wipes to clean out the cuts, a small suture kit they probably aren't going to need, and gauze to wrap the knuckles up once they're all cleaned out. Rhodes points to the first row of gallery chairs and orders Will to sit.

"I promise it won't hurt," the surgeon jokes when Will hesitates for a moment.

Truth is, right now, in this moment, pain is a good thing. It tethering Will to reality, keeping him focused and grounded, making the fact that his brother is having emergency surgery in the OR right below him while he sits up here and _listens_ to it, somehow easier to bear.

And why in the hell is Connor Rhodes being so nice to him anyway? He glances down at the hand. Cleaning out busted knuckles is grunt work. It's a menial task, and one better suited to someone far less important than Chicago Med's golden boy cardiothoracic surgeon. So maybe Jay's not doing all that hot at the moment. Does that make Will and Rhodes _friends_? Does it erase years of professional rivalry? ...Maybe it does. Maybe that's what happens in a crisis. Everyone reaches down into the deepest parts of themselves, pushes personal feelings aside and all of a sudden, enemies are friends. Cardiothoracic surgeons work scut.

Connor is eyeing him quizzically and Will realizes he's been standing there for several minutes without moving. He starts forward reluctantly and then collapses into one of the chairs as Connor grabs for his hand. When the antiseptic hits the open cuts, Will hisses.

"I don't think these are going to need any stitches," Rodes observes once the blood is cleared away. The surgeon's hands are warm. Not that that is of any consequence, it's just that his own are so cold the warmth is comforting.

Connor finishes up his work quickly and a few trips around Will's hand with the gauze later and it's like the punch to the ER wall never was. Will stares at the white bandages for a moment, surprised at how good it feels to have the evidence of that little blunder downstairs finally hidden away.

"Thanks," he says, wondering where this leaves them.

"No problem," Rhodes replies back, offering no indication.

Connor doesn't stick around much longer after that. His shift is over and it's getting late. The world hasn't stopped for him like it has for Will. So he leaves, but not before promising to check in on Jay later once he's back at the hospital for rounds. Will watches him go with conflicting emotions. While it's nice to be alone again, there was something oddly comforting about having someone else there in the room with him. It made everything seem… less heavy. Made the burden of all this more manageable somehow.

Will scrubs a hand over the ruddy stubble stubbornly sprouting on his chin and lets out a long, weary breath. He flicks his eyes back down to Jay and is surprised to find that everyone below has suddenly stopped what they're doing and are staring at the monitors. Will abandons his seat and immediately searches for Natalie. When he finds her eyes, and the fear held within them, his legs nearly give out beneath him.

 _No way. No fucking way_.

She hits a button and the claxon wail of the alarms fill his ears.

"Cardiac arrest," she says, and his heart is up in his throat in an instant. He puts both hands against the slanted glass, not caring when the gauze of his bandages scrapes against the open cuts of his knuckles. He slams his good palm into the window when Natalie disengages the intercom and she presses it again when she notices.

"You sure?" She asks. There's a slight delay with the sound and it's like he's caught in one of those bad japanese horror movies.

"Leave it on." He mouths. The button he'd have to press for her to hear him is too far away from the glass and there's no way in hell he's moving from this spot. Thankfully, Natalie gets the gist.

Up until this point they've had this unspoken arrangement between them. He sits up in the gallery like a good little ER doc and she leaves the speakers off unless she has some news to give him. Now he doesn't care what happens, he just needs to be able to hear what's going on. Natalie looks unsure about the new rules, but leaves the link activated.

" _Asystole_ ," Jay's anesthesiologist announces and the breath is driven from Will's lungs. He can't even pull it back in again as he watches one of the nurses search for a pulse at Jay's femoral artery.

" _No pulse._ " Will's eyes go wide. The room spins as panic seizes his lungs, refusing to allow them to re-inflate, and black spots dance before his eyes. " Somebody get that damn crash cart in here!"

"No, no, no, no!" This cannot be happening.

" _Fluids wide open and hang another unit. We need to get his volume back up. Starting compressions!"_

"Come on, Jay. Come on, Jay. Come on, Jay..." Will finds himself chanting once he's able to force some air back into his lungs. He's so close to the glass now he fogs it up with each ragged exhalation. Below, Jay's rib cage bows visibly beneath his surgeon's punishing compressions.

"Oh god _damn_ it!" Will bellows to the empty room.

" _Epi's in. Hold compressions_." Everyone, including Will, looks to the monitors for a rhythm check.

" _V-fib_ ," is yelled out even as Will's mind comes to the same conclusion.

" _Let's charge to 200."_

Will can't watch anymore. This is bad, this is so fucking bad, and it feels like everything he ever learned in med school is being chucked out the window. They teach you to stay detached. They pound it into your brain that you should never, ever get emotionally involved. To stay focused and professional, no matter what you're confronted with, that's the rule. But how can he possibly do that when it's his little brother down there on that table, coding for the second time that day?

Will turns away from the window and yanks at the ends of his hair as the whine of a charging defibrillator fills the room around him.

" _Clear!_ "

Then there's that sound of flesh lifting up then slapping back down against a table. A sound he'll never, ever get used to, no matter how many years he does this.

He runs his hands down the sides of his face.

" _Resuming compressions._ "

Will balls his fist against his lips presses his teeth into his good knuckles, praying or begging the universe, or whoever might be listening, to let his brother live. To make this all some kind of joke, and not the fucking end for his kid brother.

The sounds of CPR continue.

" _Alright, hold._ "

Silence. Will holds his breath again, still unable to look at anything other than the floor. He listens.

" _I've got a pulse!_ " someone announces, and Will lets out something that sounds a lot like a laugh, looks a little like a sob, but feels more like a howl.

It's over.

“ _Normal sinus rhythm._ ”

"Will?" Natalie's concerned voice comes over the intercom a few seconds later and he turns around to show her that he's still here. He's shaking like a leaf and the room is spinning, but he's still here.

And so is Jay.

"He was bleeding out," Natalie explains. "But his pressure is back up and they've got him stabilized."

Will nods. Natalie clicks off and he lets her. He collapses down onto the floor and just loses it right there on the threadbear carpet. And it isn't a pretty breakdown either. Because Jay almost died. Because Will came this fucking close to having to put his brother in the ground today. And winter burials are the worst, especially in Chicago. You have to wait until the ground is soft enough for the gravediggers to break through the soil. So people get the joy of dealing with their loved one's death on the day it happens, and then again in a few months time when the ground is thawed enough for the cemetery workers to dig the grave. So yeah, it's the kind of ugly crying that comes from the diaphragm and swells his upper lip. And thank god no one's around to witness it because it's probably the hardest Will Halstead has ever cried in his life.

It takes Will a good long while to get himself back under control, and even then, all he can do is just sit there. In fact, he spends the rest of the surgery on the floor, choking on random aborted sobs with his back to the gallery glass while his nose drips snot into his lap because fuck if he's going to risk getting up and going in search of a tissue. Something could happen while he's gone. So he pulls his knees up close to his chest, just like he did when he cried in the ER, and doesn't look down into the OR again, instead taking comfort in the slow but steady commentary Natalie provides him as things progress.

Mercifully, nothing of consequence happens again and exactly four hours and thirty two minutes after this nightmare began, Will Halstead finds himself slumped in one of those oversized reclining chairs someone has pulled into Jay's ICU room just for him.

They've put his brother in a private corner room and from where Will sits, he has a perfect view of an unconscious and still intubated Jay, every output from every screen monitoring his insides, and the nurse's station situated just outside the room. He divides his time between watching the mechanical rise and fall of his brother's chest and the people who walk back and forth past the doorway. Some people he recognizes. They're familiar faces from hospital charity events and galas. But most are people just like him, regular people, worn and haggard looking from not enough sleep and way too much bad coffee.

Will can always spot the family members of the patients not expected to live. They have this particular way of walking that always gives them away. It's a slight hunch to their shoulders. A particularly inward looking dullness to their eyes, like they're straddling two worlds at once. And maybe they are, because at this moment there are two possible realities stretching out before them. The first is this world in which their loved one pulls through and makes a full recovery. There's laughter and happiness there. And then there's that other reality. That one where they must somehow learn to live in a world that no longer holds someone they once held dear. Will finds himself thankful that he is not at that point with his brother any more, and hopefully never will be again. Jay is stable and expected to recover, even if he is in the ICU and still very much unconscious.

Night has fallen over Chicago, but the pretty view of the city lights twinkling outside Jay's window is hidden behind the drawn blinds. Will thinks about moving to the other side of the room and opening them, but he's not even sure he could pull himself out of the chair at this point. He's too exhausted. The crying and the up and down emotions from Jay's crapshow of a surgery have sapped every once of energy he has left. He nods off every so often, lulled into sleep by the steady woosh of the ventilator and the quiet atmosphere of the ICU, but fear always keeps him hovering just on the edge of actual, restful sleep. He knows he won't be able to keep this up for long, but the thought of closing his eyes and something happening to Jay refuses to give him a moments peace.

"Dr. Halstead," a gentle voice greets him a few hours later and Will stirs in his chair. He recognizes that voice. This is a visit he's been expecting for a while now, but not necessarily one he's been looking forward to.

Will sits forward, the blanket someone must have draped over him sometime during the night slipping down from around his shoulders and pooling in his lap. "Hey Dr. Charles."

The head of psychiatry comes up to stand beside his chair after a quick stop at the hand sanitizer pump just inside the door. "How's he doing tonight?"

Dr. Charles keeps his voice low. They all keep their voices low in here. Even though Jay is down for the count, there something about an ICU that demands reverence.

Will massages at his neck, trying to untangle the knots that have formed in his spine as he stifles a yawn. "He's... ' _steadily improving'_ ," he replies, parroting Jay's attending's latest diagnosis with only a hint of mild sarcasm. Dr. Charles raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment on it.

"That's good. And I hear he'll be off the vent soon."

Will wants to be surprised that the psychiatrist knows so much, but he just doesn't have the energy.

"They've already started weaning him off," he explains. "He's doing ok." Will reaches out and pats the back of Jay's IV'd hand through the bars of his bed. "Aren't you?"

"Dr. Philips was just filling me in on how his surgery went," Dr. Charles putters on. "I heard you were up in the gallery when things… got a little complicated."

 _Complicated,_ Will almost snorts at that. Well, that's one word for it, he figures.

"You wanna talk about it?" Dr. Charles studies Will over the rims of his half-moon glasses.

For a fraction of a second, a tiny moment in time, Will thinks that maybe he might, or at least that maybe he should. There's a reason why family members aren't allowed to watch surgeries. Blood, organs, they're all all meant to stay on the inside and it's an affront to nature to open it all up and expose it to the air like that. And not just for the person watching, but for the person being operated on as well. Those things belong to them. They are the building blocks of who they are, and no one has the right to stand there and see all that. Its a sacred, powerful thing, and Will opens his mouth to tell Dr. Charles as much, when the realization that he's exhausted and not thinking straight hits him like a ton of bricks.

"Not really," he admits on a sigh and Dr. Charles surprises him a beat later when he accepts Will's answer on a shrug. Ok, not the reaction he was expecting, but Will appreciates the respect for his boundaries all the same.

"Fair enough," Dr. Charles says with a knowing smile. "Well, if anything changes and you decide you do want to talk, I'll leave my pager number at the nurse's station. I'll be around most of the night so call me if you need anything. And I mean that, Will," he repeats, looking over at him seriously. "Anything at all."

Dr. Charles scuttles from the room and Will watches him go, wondering all the while if the psychiatrist's visit tonight was a true act of altruism, or just the result of gentle prodding from Goodwin. Will likes to think its the latter, but he hasn't seen hide nor hair of the hospital administrator since this afternoon, and this has her name written all over it.

Will settles himself back into his chair and pulls the scratchy hospital blanket back up around his shoulders. Jay slumbers on fitfully in the bed beside him, restless eyes roaming beneath their lids as he floats somewhere between unconsciousness and sleep. Will watches him for a good long while, until something that feels a little like peace settles in around him. Jay isn't going to be awake for several more hours, but the vent is on the way out and his prognosis looks good. Will can stand down now. He's been on high alert ever since this morning when the paramedics brought Jay in, but now the danger has passed. Now here they are: spleen-less for sure, and not a little bit unconscious, but breathing and with nowhere to go but up.

"You really scared the shit out of me today, you know that," he finds himself speaking out loud as he digs the knuckles of his good hand into his sleep encrusted eyes when they start to itch. "When you coded on the table like that..." The words clog in his throat and he looks away, swiping at the stubborn, exhausted tears that burn at the corners of his eyes, _again_. Damn it, he's got to get hold of himself "Ah shit, Jay," he laughs, "I really thought we were going to lose you there for a minute. Do me a favor and don't you ever do that to me again, okay?"

He realizes just how stupid a demand that is as soon as the words leave his mouth. Jay's job is inherently dangerous. Hell, so is Will's. They each go to work every morning not knowing what's going to happen next. And it's a risk. A risk that neither one of them has any problem taking. Will couldn't ask Jay to give up his job as a cop any more than Jay could ask Will to give up his. They are necessary evils in a world continuously trying to tear itself apart. It's just that, every so often, somebody's got to pay the piper.

Will lets his gaze roam over the payment Jay has made. His eyes are still incredibly bruised, though the swelling has gone down a bit. He'll have scars from the surgery, too. They're hidden under bandages and his hospital gown at the moment, but he'll treat them like he does all of his other battle scars and show them off every chance he gets once they're healed.

The reality of it is, Jay's bruises will fade, and, God willing, so will his memories of what happened here today, but Will is never going to forget. No way in hell. How could he? Forget what it was like to watch Jay gasp for air as his lung collapsed? Block out the memory of what it was like to stand in that gallery and listen to his brother go into cardiac arrest? Nope. No matter how fast Jay bounces back from this, Will Halstead is always going to remember those four hours and thirty two minutes when he wasn't sure whether or not his brother was going to live or die.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of retcon regarding the Halstead brothers past in this chapter. I couldn't help myself. Also, warnings for descriptions of torture.

Jay comes off the ventilator a day later.  Will has gone back to work to try and get his mind off things, but he’s got an in with the ICU nurses who agree to page him every time something of consequence happens.  He’s there for the extubating, but misses it the first time Jay opens his eyes and is able to string more than two words together.  He gets a page the second time his brother's awake, but by the time he makes it up to the ICU, Jay's out of it again.  But he is actually there the one time his brother is finally able to open those green eyes of his and keep them that way.

It’s late afternoon when it happens.  The sun has all but disappeared behind the skyscrapers yet its warm, afternoon remnants are still managing to find their way in through the slats of the blinds.  Will is bent over a tablet he stole from the ED, looking over a few of his patients’ charts to check on their progress, when a soft groan from the bed beside him pulls his attention.  Jay is stirring, his bruised eyes working their way open as he pulls himself up and out of the grip of sleep.

It seems harder than it should be, but when he finally manages it, Will leans forward. “Welcome back, little brother,” he says. 

Jay seems a bit confused at first, but the ghost of a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth when he finally zeroes in on Will with those twin black eyes of his.  

“I go somewhere?”  His voice is hoarse from the intubation, but it’s still his, and it's still the best thing Will’s ever heard.

“Very nearly.”  He replies with a soft chuckle.  If Jay only knew.

His brother opens his mouth, probably to ask Will what could possibly be so funny, but is stopped by a cough that catches in his throat and makes him wince as his injuries are jostled.  Will has been anticipating this, and grabs the cup of water he’s had ready to go on the rolling table beside the bed since he got here.  He guides the straw between his brother’s pale, cracked lips and warns him to take it easy when the youngest Halstead begins to gulp the water down greedily.  

“Better?”  He asks when Jay stops swallowing.  His brother nods and Will puts the cup back on the table.  When he turns back, Jay has collapsed back against his pillows, breathing heavily and looking as though he’s about ready to pass out again.  And yet, a moment later, Will sees a strange looks flit across his features.  It’s something that resembles realization, then slowly morphs into disgust.  

Jay wrenches up the blankets covering his lower half, pulling IV lines taught and nearly ripping them from his skin. But before Will can yell at him to be careful or ask him what in the hell he thinks he's doing, his brother groans dramatically.  

“What did they  _ do _ to me, Will?”  he asks, dejectedly.

Will frowns, but then gets it a moment later.  Jay has just discovered his catheter.

“Um… took your spleen out?”  Will answers unhelpfully with half a shrug.  

Jay lets the blankets settle down back around his middle with a huff.  The fact that he’s injured at all seems to occur to him then and he takes a few moments to familiarize himself with what has changed. There are bandages hidden beneath his gown and a chest tube still draining fluid from around his lung.  After a second of introspection, his eyes suddenly snap back over to Will.

“Did... did you just say they took out my  _ spleen _ ?”

Will nods, bracing himself for what might come next.

“You’re kidding, right?”  Jay asks incredulously, his green eyes going wide with shock.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Jay puts his hand over the incision site again.  “Can I live without one of those? I mean, am I going to need a transplant or something?”

“Of course not!”  Will answers quickly, but he can see his brother needs more of an explanation than that.  More reassurance that this is okay and not the end of the world.  “People have their spleens removed every day.  You’re going to be fine.  You might have to make some lifestyle changes, and your immune system may be compromised from here on out, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t make a full recovery.”  

_ I’ll make sure of that _ , Will thinks to himself, but doesn’t say it out loud.

Jay contemplates the information he’s just been given for a moment, but something seems to still be bothering him.

“What is it?”

“I can still be a cop without that, right?”  Ah, there it is.  They’ve finally come to what his brother really wants to know.

Will sighs audibly.  His kid brother has a 5 inch scar on his belly… broken ribs to go with his broken face.  There’s a friggin  _ tube _ in his chest keeping his lung inflated, and he’s worried about his career...  

“You can live a perfectly normal life without a spleen, Jay.  I don’t see why they would ever throw you off the force for losing it.”  

But this answer doesn’t appease Jay.  His gaze turns inward and he seems to wilt right there before Will’s eyes.  “It wouldn’t be a normal life for me if I couldn't be a cop.”

The words are so raw, so naked, so soaked in distress and despair, Will flicks his eyes towards Jay’s monitors just to make sure his vitals are still holding steady.  Besides a slightly elevated heart rate, everything looks okay.

“Tell me I can still be a cop, Will.  I need you to tell me I can still be a cop.”  Jay tries to sit forward in bed but he just can't do it. He's too weak, and his injuries are too severe. The pain meds probably keep most of the agony at bay, but he still winces every time he moves.

“Jesus Jay, relax!" Will exclaims, pushing his brother gently back against the pillows by the shoulder, mindful of the chest tube snaking its way out from beneath Jay's hospital gown. Will should have figured something like this was going to happen. "Look, I’ll talk to Voight for you in the morning, alright?  First chance I get.  Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I can’t work a desk, Will.”

Christ, this is breaking his heart.  “I know that. And believe me, I will do everything in my power to make sure that never, ever happens.  But you’re freaking out over something that isn’t even an issue yet.  Just… calm down before your nurse comes back in here and kicks me out.”

Jay doesn’t mention the work thing again, but Will can tell something is still off with him.  He withdraws into himself for a while, turning onto his side as much as his IVs and chest tube will allow, and pulls away from the world.  When Will questions him about it, he promises it's just because he’s tired.  

But Will has a different theory.  It starts to form a little later in the day when Jay finally drops off into a fitful sleep that is punctuated by dreams so intense, he startles himself awake with strangled screams.  Will has to grab him by the shoulders to keep him from dislodging the chest tube and it takes Jay several minutes to even recognize who he is.  They sedate him a little after that, and Will calls a conference with his doctors.  Every one of them is of the opinion that this is just a reaction to all the medications he’s on or a response to the surgery and the trauma his body has just been subjected to.  But Will is not convinced.  He knows better - because there was another time, a darker time, years ago when something just like this happened to his younger brother.  Doctors tried to tell him that it was just Jay trying to adjust back then, too.

They don’t talk about that time in their lives very much.  Well, no. Scratch that.  They  _ never _ talk about that time.  Those first few months after Jay got back from Afghanistan are like the crazy, creepy uncle no one ever talks about, especially not at family functions and never in front of the kids.  It was a time when Jay couldn’t even tie his own damn shoes without reliving the horrors he faced over there and tumbling down into the bottomless pit of a panic attack.   He’d come back from that place a broken man, ripped in places no mortal man should ever be ripped, and it had fallen to Will to sew him back together again.  And he’d done it.  The doctors at the VA like to take all the credit, but it was Will who put that kid back together with dental floss and super glue.  His sutures were crude to be sure, and some of the holes are still visible even now, but it was Will and Will alone who pulled his brother through the worst of it.  

So when Jay starts to deteriorate over the next day or so and doesn’t bounce back from his surgery the way a young man his age should, Will knows something needs to be done.  He needs answers.  He needs to understand what happened to his brother that day, because no matter what anyone tries to tell him, Will knows you don’t get strung up from the ceiling, beaten half to death, brutally tortured, and then just get to walk away.  

His chance actually presents itself later that day.

They’re on day number four and Jay is  _ still _ in the ICU.  He’s having trouble with his lungs, and there are whispers of pneumonia coming from the halls outside his room when people think Will isn’t listening.  Jay is restless and uncooperative and no matter how hard Will tries to get him to open up about what’s going on inside that head of his, he refuses to talk.  So he waits until later when Jay’s asleep to fish his brother’s cell phone out of the clear plastic bag holding all his personal belongings and goes out into the hall to make his phone call.

Fifteen minutes after that, he’s sitting on one of the benches in the hospital’s busy lobby.  It’s lunch time and doctors and nurses mingle in with regular people as everyone makes their way toward the cafeteria.  He watches them, wondering how many of them are in the same boat he is.  How many of them are in the midst of watching their loved ones slowly fall apart right in front of their eyes...

“I gotta admit, Will,” someone says from beside him, startling him from his thoughts, “I’m surprised you even called me.” 

Erin Lindsay is standing before him, cheeks ruddy from the bitter cold as she collapses onto the bench beside him.  She peels off the layers of her winter gear one by one and deposits them on the bench beside her.  When she’s done, she tucks an errant strand of blonde hair back behind her ear and doesn’t seem to know what to say.  All Will can think is how high she looks at the moment, pupils blown wide and eyes unable to focus on anything in particular.  Her entire appearance makes this whole thing feel a little like some clandestine meeting between a drug dealer and his best customer.

The bags Erin brought along with her are resting at her feet and Will points to one, wasting no time on pleasantries.  “Did you bring it?”

Erin, seemingly picking up on the fact that Will is in no way interested in making this anything other than the professional, fact finding mission it is, sighs and opens a bag.  She digs through its contents for a moment before producing a slender, silver laptop which she places in her lap.  Before opening it, she puts her hands over the top of it protectively and looks over at Will.

“Are you  _ sure _ you really want to see this?  It’s… pretty brutal.”

Will purses his lips, anger flaring in his chest.  Of course he doesn't  _ want _ to see it, but there are things he needs to understand about that day, especially if he wants to help Jay.  He  _ needs _ to do this.  Nobody ever said anything about wanting to.

Will narrows his eyes.  “I don’t really think you are the best person to lecture me on what I should or shouldn’t be doing right now, Erin.”  His words drip with hidden meaning and Erin doesn’t miss it.  Her face hardens and Will worries for a moment that he’s gone too far.  

“I could get in a lot of trouble for showing you this,” she says icily.

“Then why did you even come here?” he fires back, so completely unimpressed with her attitude at the moment.

“Because I...” Erin starts, then stops abruptly.  She looks away, chewing on her bottom lip, her already glassy eyes shining even more with unshed tears.  She’s here because she feels guilty about what happened.  Will gets that.  In fact, he was banking on that guilt to get her here in the first place.  He played her.  He knows it and she knows it, though neither can admit to it.

“Look,” Will sighs, taking pity on her.  “Jay… isn’t doing so well at the moment.”  

He pauses, unsure of how many details to give her since his theories are all conjecture at this point anyway.  “I think it has something to do with what happened to him and the only way I’m going to be able to help is if I know exactly what he went through.”

Erin thinks about this for a moment, but still looks unsure, like she’s half a second away from telling him this is a terrible idea and packing up her shit and leaving.  But she doesn’t say anything and a moment later she’s taking a deep breath and handing him the laptop.  It’s cold from being outside, but he makes himself prop it up on his thighs.  When he opens it, there’s a video file already queued up and ready to go on the screen.  Will only has to press play for it to begin.  Erin scoots in a little closer to his side to watch along with him, but he hesitates.

Right now the screen is blank and Will Halstead’s world is safe.  If he wanted to, he could snap the laptop shut right now and go on living his life in ignorant bliss of what his brother had to go through at the hands of his captors.  But he’s convinced himself that this is the way to go, that watching this horror show is somehow going to help Jay.  Like maybe if he knows and sees for himself, shares the burden a little, he can start to help make all this right again.  

Will teeters on the edge of indecision for a moment more, before finally clicking play with a quick jab of his index finger.

Thank god there’s no sound.  That’s all he can think as the video plays out before his eyes in all its violent, gory detail.  He wants to shut it off almost as soon as its starts, but he can’t, and forces himself to keep watching.  

Jay is suspended from the ceiling by the chains wrapped around his wrists.  There are two men circling him while a third one films unseen behind the camera.  The frame wobbles, like the person behind it is laughing, as the men lash out at Jay with fists and sticks and cattle prods.  His brother cries out silently against the merciless blows and Will imagines he can hear both his agonized screams, and the sounds the chains make each and every time Jay’s body is sent swinging backwards on another vicious punch.  It's terrible and brutal and Will can’t take his eyes off it.  

He watches until the file runs out.  He stares at the empty screen until the display finally goes black.  And then he stares at  _ that _ until Erin finally puts a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“We got him out, Will.”  Is all she says, and Will nods as he closes the laptop and hands it back to the detective.


	4. Chapter 4

“Dr. Halstead, may I speak with you for a moment?”  As soon as Will steps off the elevator and back into the ICU, he is immediately approached by an attending physician in the midst of rounds, a gaggle of med students flocking around him like a group of hungry young ducklings.  Will glances towards Jay’s room, wanting nothing more than to be by his side in that moment, especially after what he just saw on that video, but allows himself to be pulled aside.  

“What can I do for you, Dr. Abrams?”  He asks politely as the elderly physician hands him a tablet.  Will takes it from him with his still bandaged hand but doesn’t look at it.

“I’ve just been in to see your brother,”  Dr. Abrams informs him seriously.  Will feels his chest tighten up slightly.  He’s had a feeling all day that this conversation was coming.  The one where someone finally admits that Jay is not doing as well as he should be.

“And?”

Dr. Abrams flicks his eyes towards the tablet Will is holding.  He reluctantly looks down at it as the attending fixes him with a stern look over his thick bifocals.  The man has a good reputation around the hospital, but his eyesight’s for shit.  Probably why he’s always accompanied by a horde of second-year med students.

Will stares at the chest x-ray in his hands, air catching in his chest as if his lungs were just as filled with infection as the ones he’s looking at.  The world seems to start crumbling down around him as his worst fears are confirmed.  He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.  “Is he running a fever yet?”

“Just started,” Abrams replies sadly.  “Low grade. 100.0.”  

Will grips the tablet harder in his hands.  “Course of treatment?”  

“Cultures for now, but I’ve put him on Vancomycin.  I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Ok,”  Will replies, handing the tablet back to Abrams when he’s sure he’s got his emotions back in check.  

“His tension pneumothorax has resolved nicely, but your brother is refusing the spirometer,”  Abrams goes on, exchanging the tablet for the goofy looking device they usually use to help patients with their breathing after surgery.  “I was wondering if perhaps you could talk him into using it.  Maybe express the seriousness of what developing pneumonia at this stage in his recovery could mean.”

Will nods, swallowing thickly as he thinks just how serious it could be.  “I will.”

Abrams excuses himself a moment later with a promise to keep an eye on things and Will all but sprints back towards his brother’s room.  Jay is sleeping fitfully, lost in another agitated nightmare that jerks his limbs and has him mumbling incoherently as he dreams.  At least time Will knows what the subject of those dreams are; he’s seen it firsthand. 

Tossing the spirometer onto the table, he walks over to the side of Jay’s bed and rests his hands along the bars that have been raised up to keep his restless brother from rolling out.   There’s already a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across his brow and he’s looking unbelievably pale again.

“Goddamnit, Jay.”  

Will’s been saying those words an awful lot these past few days.  But that’s just because this wasn’t supposed to happen.  None of it was.  Jay was supposed to get better, pulling through better and faster than anyone could have ever imagined, because that’s just what Jay Halstead  _ does _ .  He defies odds, breaks records, takes everything anyone ever told him couldn't be done and does it.  All the while smiling sheepishly and telling anyone who’ll listen about how it's nothing.   _ Just doing his job _ \- and all that.  So why are they here?  Why in the name of all that is holy are they standing here and staring into the face of pneumonia?  Will can’t help but what wonder how much of it has to do with the shit show he just witnessed on the laptop.

“Please...” Jay murmurs in his sleep as he shifts beneath the sheets.  Will freezes for a moment, anxiously watching his brother’s face to see if he needs to intervene and wake him.  But Jay just sighs, turns his head in the other direction, and slumbers on.  Will flops back into his chair ungracefully and spends the next several minutes just watching his brother breathe.

For now, things are ok.  This is only a minor setback, Will keeps telling himself. His brother’s vitals are stable, the chest tube is going to come out soon, and the only symptom he’s showing at the moment is an elevated temperature.  The antibiotics will do their job and then maybe this won't be as bad as his brain keeps trying to tell him it will be.  His brother hasn’t even started coughing yet.  He’s young and strong and if anyone can make it through this, it’s Jay Halstead.

“Please… no… Will…”

Jay shifts on the bed again suddenly, pulling WIll from his thoughts.  He glances over, half expecting to see Jay’s eyes open, but his brother is still fast asleep.  He’s still caught in that damn dream and, by the looks of things, it's not a good one… nor is it letting him go.

“S-stop…  No...”  Jay mutters, wincing in his sleep as he tries to curl himself in around his middle, around his incision.

“Jay?”  Will ask tentatively.  He leans forward in his chair but doesn’t touch his brother.  Vague memories from a psych rotation he did a million and a half years ago flit through his brain as he tries to remember how he should handle this.   “Hey, you’re dreaming.  Wake up, bro.”

Jay’s head begins thrashing from side to side on his pillow as his respirations increase.  The monitors above his head give a cautionary chirp when his heart rate begins to climb.  Whatever is going on inside that head of his, it isn’t good.

“Jay!”  Will gets up from his chair this time, speaking more forcefully and leaning in close to his brother’s head.   When Jay starts reaching for the IVs in his arm, Will grabs the groping hand and pins it to his chest.  “Buddy, hey!  Wake up.”

Jay mumbles something incoherent in his sleep and that’s when the first fist flies.  

It’s stupid, really.  Will should have known better than to get so close.  But one moment he’s trying to soothe his brother out of the nightmare and the next he’s seeing stars as a hand collides with the side of his face and sends him stumbling back with the force of the blow.  He trips over his own chair, crashing to the ground, only able to save himself from a nasty concussion a second later by a quick turn midair and the arm he manages to get beneath him to keep his face from colliding with the floor.  It's a mistake, though, and he hears rather than feels something crack beneath him just as all hell breaks loose around him.

Alarms that have been silent for so long begin to wail.  Jay lets out a strangled cry that rips the very heart from Will’s chest as he succeeds in yanking the IVs from his arm in some desperate attempt to escape whatever horror show his brain has him trapped in.  People are pouring into the room and calling out for more help, but Will is still stuck on the floor, caught in the damn legs of his overturned chair.

“Dr. Halstead!  Are you alright?”  One of the ICU nurses asks as she kneels down beside him and tries to help.  He manages to get himself free finally and she gives him a hand up from the floor.  But when she reaches for his arm and tries to start examining it, he wrenches it free from her grasp.

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” he insists through clenched teeth, straightening his disheveled scrubs one-handed in some stupid attempt to prove that it's true.  But his arm is definitely not fine and he has to bite back a yelp of pain when it throbs angrily.  Ignoring it as best he can, he cradles the obviously broken arm to his torso and heads back over to Jay’s bedside.

His brother is fighting tooth and nail against the orderlies who are trying to get his flailing limbs into restraints.  Still very much caught in the throes of his nightmare, he begs incoherently, pleading in some voice Will’s never heard him use before, just to be let go.  It breaks his heart in two.

Will elbows his way into the fray and effectively pins his brother to the bed by his shoulder using his one good arm.  There’s already blood visible on his gown just above where the chest tube is positioned.  They have to get this under control before Jay can do any more damage.  “Someone give him 1mg of Ativan, please!” He yells to the room.

There’s blood everywhere from where Jay has ripped out his IV.  It soaks the sheets, staining everything around him bright red.  Will spends his days in the ED up to his elbows in other peoples blood and viscera, so this should be a walk in the park, right?  So why is it the sight of his own brother’s blood is making him want to turn around and lose the contents of his stomach into the trash can beside the bed?  

Will pulls in a shaky breath, then makes himself focus back on his still struggling brother.  “Come on, Jay,” he pleads.  “Snap out of it already!  You’re dreaming.  Wake up!”   But Jay’s eyes remain resolutely closed as he fights against the demons in his dreams.

“Goddamnit, Jay, listen to me!  We got you out, alright?  You’re safe.  It’s just a dream.  They can’t get to you in here!”  

When Jay’s remaining wrist is finally slipped into a restraint and he can do nothing but struggle weakly against the padded straps, Will sags against the bars of the bed in relief.  He’s forgotten about his arm though, and agony, tight and unforgiving, rips up from the base of his wrist and radiates all the way up into his shoulder blade, effectively paralysing the arm.  He inhales sharply, wrapping his good hand around the bed rails with a white knuckled grip in an effort to keep from crying out.  Someone asks him if he’s alright again, but he can’t even answer.  He’s too busy trying not to pass out.  

Christ  _ almighty _ , that hurts.

One of them finally has the sedative ready and Will watches as she plunges the business end of the syringe into the soft flesh of Jay’s bicep.  The fact that they have to sedate his brother at all makes Will want to throw something, but it’s a necessary evil at this point.

“Jay,” Will tries again once the drugs are in and Jay continues to thrash.  He’s making these high pitched keening noises in the back of his throat now, like some kind of caged animal and it’s breaking Will’s heart all over again.  “Enough already!  It’s over.  We got you out!”   He shakes Jay’s shoulder hard.  If screaming at him won’t work, then maybe physical force will.   And it seems to.  Will holds his breath as Jay suddenly still beneath his hand and doesn’t let it out again until his younger brother’s eyelids flutter open and he’s blinking blearily around the room.

“Oh thank God.” Will lets his shoulders sag in relief.  He’s never been so glad to see his brother’s stupid green eyes before.  Someone passes him an oxygen mask and he presses it gently Jay’s face.

“That’s it,” he coaxes as Jay struggles to get his breathing under control.  The heart rate monitor ceases its wailing.  “Just take it easy.  Nice and slow.”  Will exaggerates his own breathing, giving Jay something to fixate on and to match as he tries to obey.  “You’ve got this.”

“W-what happened?”  Jay asks when he’s finally able to speak again.  Will can barely hear him over the oxygen mask.  His voice is weak and breathless.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Will promises, securing the elastic band of the mask around Jay’s head and adjusting everything so that it sits comfortably against his brother’s skin.  Jay quirks an eyebrow at him like he doesn’t quite believe him, so WIll keeps going.  “You just had a bad dream is all.  And a little trouble with your IVs.”  

Will turns to address the nurse who handed him the oxygen mask before Jay can ask him any more questions.  “Why don’t we see about getting this chest tube removed,” he suggests in a low voice.  “And someone check his vitals, okay?”  She nods and scurries off.

“Will?”  

He turns back to his brother.  “I’m right here, dude.  What’s up?”  

Rather than answer, Jay tugs at the soft restraints encircling his arms and legs and blinks up at Will with some unreadable emotion swimming behind his eyes.  It’s something that looks an awful lot like shame.  “What,” he pauses to cough and the oxygen mask fogs with condensation.  “What did I  _ do _ ?”

Will stares at his brother, at an utter loss in that moment as to what to tell him.  Part of him wants to be completely honest, to tell Jay that he had a nightmare and started freaking out, and pulled out his IVs and probably broke Will’s arm… but he just can’t do it.  The way Jay is looking at him, like they’re twelve years old again wondering who should provoke their father this time to make sure only one of them faces his ire, is activating that damn instinct inside his brain that insists he protect his younger brother at all costs.

“Nothing,” Will lies through his teeth.  “You didn’t do anything.”  But Jay is shaking his head.

“No…” he forces out as he chokes on the words again.  It’s ends up a dry hacking cough that doesn’t bring anything up.

“Your eye.”  Jay finally gets out and Will knits his brow in confusion.  

“What?”

Jay takes another wheezing breath and then tries again, “What happened to your eye?”

Will presses a hand to the side of his face without thinking and nearly hisses in pain as his fingers come in contact with the sensitive spot where Jay accidentally backhanded him.  There’s no blood that he can feel, but he can already tell the skin there is hot and beginning to swell.  He stands there for a second, not quite sure what to say.  And what is Jay thinking, anyway?  Worrying about Will’s face while he was still struggling to control his own breathing?  It’s a typical Jay Halstead move.  Worry about everyone else while he’s the one currently in the ICU.

“I’m fine,” Will lies again. “Just took a little spill.  Nothing you need to worry about.”  

Will cradles his arm against his torso, trying like mad to hide the fact that he’s about to pass out from the pain.  Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the muscles in his arm are beginning to seize up and he’s broken out into a cold sweat.  There’s a buzzing in his ears that wasn’t there before as well, and nausea crawling up the back of his throat.  The doctor half of him is screaming at him to sit down before he goes down, but he’s got to make sure Jay is okay.  

It takes a bit, but the Ativan does eventually start to do its job.  Jay’s breathing evens out and he get this faraway look in his eye as his muscles relax and he’s finally allowed some peace, as drugged as that peace may be.  Will figures he should be glad.  The restraints are gone now and the worried creases around Jay’s eyes have all but disappeared, but all he can seem to do is stand there beside Jay’s bed, shaking like a leaf.  Once his brother’s eyelids flutter closed again, he takes a wobbly few steps away from the bed, having to use the wall for support when he almost topples right then and there.  He tries to hide the fact that he’s in trouble, but someone notices.  They always notice.

“Dr. Halstead?” 

Will opens his mouth to answer, but before he can insist that he’s absolutely fine, blackness begins swallowing up bits of his vision. 

“Dr. Halstead!”  They ask again.

He shakes his head to try and clear the fuzz, but everything is moving farther and farther away from him.  The last thing he registers before the floor rushes up to meet him and the blackness finally swallows him completely are hands reaching out for him.


	5. Chapter 5

“Well, it’s broken,” Natalie says a little too cheerily as she sidles up beside Will the next morning.  He’s at the nurses station, awkwardly filling out paperwork for Jay, and now himself, when she plops a tablet down on the counter beside him.  It’s got the films of his X-rays up on the screen but the cursory review Will gives it  yields no obvious fractures.

“You sure?” he asks as he bends down to squint at the screen.  The movement jars his arm a bit, but thankfully the pain is manageable.  Yay for hospital grade painkillers.

“Oh believe me,” Natalie smiles at him sweetly.  “It’s there.”

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d almost think you were enjoying this,” he smiles back up at her before straightening.  

He tries to pick the tablet up off the counter for a better look but can’t seem to manage it with his one available hand.  Natalie bites her bottom lip to keep from laughing at him as he huffs in frustration, but then something occurs to him.  Before she can pick it up for him, Will slides the tablet to the edge of the counter till part of it is hanging off, then picks it up easily.  He shoots her a satisfied smirk, which promptly disappears off his face again when she has to reach over and zoom the screen in for him with her fingertips.  She really does laugh then and everything else in Will’s head evaporates in an instant.  He’s forgotten what an intoxicating sound that is...

“It’s right there, Will,” she says after a beat.  “In case you were wondering.” WIll realizes he’s been staring again.  He looks away sheepishly and studies the films.  Sure enough, there it is, right there where she pointed, in all its black and white glory.  Dr. Will Halstead is the proud owner of a brand spanking new hairline fracture of the humerus… though nothing about any of this strikes him as particularly funny.

“Fantastic,” he grumbles.  The sling they put him in is already beginning to chafe his shoulder and he’s seriously missing the use of his dominant hand.  Not to mention the fact that this is going to put him out of commission from work for the foreseeable future.  ...Though Jay is doing everything in his power to make sure Will has plenty to do during his forced exile from manual labor.  

“How is he doing?”  Natalie asks him when she apparently notices that he has gone quiet and is staring over at Jay’s room again.  Antonio Dawson is in there visiting with Jay.  He’s the only member of Intelligence that’s been by lately and Jay is chatting along with him amicably.  He laughs in all the right places, has a smile plastered across his face.  And yet, as hard as his brother tries to pretend like nothing much is wrong with him while Antonio is there, Will knows better; knows his brother.  Can see right through that rickety facade Jay always tries to put up every time he has visitors.  It must be exhausting for him, but Jay has always been the kind of guy who hates to show weakness in front of others.  Avoids it all all costs, really. Like Will, he prefers to break down in private, in places where no one else can see.  This whole almost getting killed thing is really cramping their styles. 

But just like when they were kids, there isn’t much Jay can hide from Will.  He picks up immediately on the dark circles that have begun forming beneath his eyes, thanks to a long night of refusing sleep, lest he slip into another nightmare and hurt someone again.  That little complication arose the moment someone inadvertently let slip that Jay is the reason Will is now sporting a pretty impressive black eye and a broken arm. Then there’s the coughing, and the sheen of sweat on his brow, and his brother’s inability to pull in a proper breath at times… Will sighs.  It’s been two days since the pneumonia was diagnosed and Jay’s oxygen levels have dipped  low enough that they’ve decided to keep him in the ICU and put him back on oxygen.   

_ Those were a fun few minutes,  _ Will muses to himself, thinking back on the moment when he fit that damn cannula back under his brother’s nose.  Jay grumbed through every second of it, shooting Will death glares that might have seriously wounded anyone else who might not be used to them.   Then they only got worse once Will started making him work the spirometer.  

That thing is like Jay’s new mortal enemy now.  The looks he gives it every time it appears before him are almost comical, but Will can understand his brother’s reluctance to use it.  It's hard work and the effort usually sends him into coughing fits so terrible, they aggravate his broken ribs and leave him a sweaty, shaky mess of pain.  But it has to be done, so Will always insists on it until Jay eventually caves.  Then, as if to add insult to injury, he seems to be retreating even further into himself when there are no visitors, now that he knows about Will’s arm.  

Will realizes a moment later that he hasn’t answered Natalie’s question yet.  She’s waiting patiently for him, and even though he knows he can tell her all of these things that keep racing through his mind, all he ends up is giving her a lackluster, “he’s hanging in there.”

“Jay’s going to be alright, Will,” she tells him matter-of-factly, leaning against the counter and hugging the tablet to her chest.  “If he’s anything like you at all, then he’s going to beat this faster than any of us can imagine.”  Will smiles at her, wondering how in the world he got so lucky as to have someone like her in his court.  But before he can say any of that out loud, his attention is drawn to several figures entering the ICU.  He spots Hank Voight first, the rest of his Intelligence unit, sans Antonio, filing in behind him.

“Oh perfect,”  Will mutters to himself.  He is entirely  _ not _ in the mood to deal with his brother’s boss or his former partner at the moment.  When he starts to make his way over to the group, Natalie stops him.

“Please don’t,” she begs, like she already knows exactly how this is going to go.  And maybe she does know.  Will has never been particularly good at hiding his emotions or his intentions and he’s pretty sure the anger he’s got saved up for the people heading for Jay’s room right now is broadcasting right there across his face.  He looks away, promising nothing.

“Hey Will,” Adam Ruzak greets him when he approaches, holding out a hand.  Having no idea what part Adam might have played in the events leading up to Jay’s injury, Will reluctantly shakes it.  He finds it very interesting that Adam has been chosen as the group’s spokesperson while a surly looking Hank Voight hangs back.

“I, uh, I know you’re pretty pissed off at some of us right now…” Ruzek glances over his shoulder at the people gathered behind him.   “But we were kinda hoping we could maybe all get in a few minutes with him?  You know, let him know we’re thinking about him and rooting for him and such?

“Antonio’s already in there with him,” Will replies, scrutinizing each of them in turn with heated eyes.  He knows Jay’s job in inherently dangerous, he gets that, he really does, but it still feels like this so called family before him betrayed his brother in some way by letting him get taken.  They should have protected him, had his back, gotten him out of there before he was beaten half to death and then rushed to the hospital.  He wants to say all of this to them, but then thinks of Jay, and the way his face lit up earlier today when Antonio showed up and took over in the chair beside his bed for a while.  So he opts to say nothing at all.

“All we want,” Voight finally speaks, his gravely, sandpaper-like voice grating against Will’s every nerve, “is to check in on him and see how he’s doing.  That’s all.  Then we’ll get out of your hair.”  

It's not even just his voice either, it’s his whole damn demeanor.  The fake-friendly tone that seems to suggest they’re just two regular dudes sharing a couple of beers over at Molly’s.  It must be a pretty effective tool in his little bag of cop tricks, but for Will, it just serves to piss him off even more.  

“I’ll be sure to give him your message,” he replies flatly.

Voight sizes Will up for a moment, as if measuring him for the shallow grave he and Olinsky might have to dig for him should he seriously decide not let them through.

“We don’t all have to go in at once,” Voight suggests with forced pleasantry.  “How’s about just a few of us at a time?”

“Well, seeing as how it was your ‘team’ who  _ put _ him in here in the first place,” Will practically sneers, “I don’t think that’s such a great idea right now  _ Sergeant _ Voight.”  He emphasises the word, sullying the title with all the disgust that has been building up inside of him for days.

Voight laughs it off, looking genuinely perplexed by WIll’s attitude toward him.  “You seem to be operating under the delusion that I’m out to get your brother, or something.  Mind telling me what that’s all about, Halstead?”  

By this time everyone in the ICU is hanging on their every word. Even Antonio has exited Jay’s room and is standing off to one side of the hall, right by Natalie.  They both seem poised and ready to step in if things get any more heated than they already are.  But while the standoff is intense, it’s not one anyone seems particularly inclined to escalate.  Even so, Will is kind of amazed they’ve been banished to the waiting room yet.

“I don’t know,” Will taunts him a bit.  “Mind telling  _ me _ how it is my brother got kidnapped on  _ your _ watch?”  

Hank’s lip curls up into a sneer.  He doesn’t move forward per se, but Olinsky still tugs on his shirt sleeve like he’s warning the detective to tread carefully.  No one misses it when a young looking security guard slips into the ICU and took up shop at one end of the nurse’s station to watch over the proceedings carefully.  

“Ops go wrong all the time, kid.  Hate to break it to ya.  That’s just part of the job,” Voight replies with a shrug.  “Your brother knew that when he signed up for this gig.”

Will cocks his head to one side.  “Well, then I guess I just always assumed you guys had each other's backs.”

“Will,” Natalie hisses at him as all five of the Intelligence officers before him stiffen.  

“You want someone to blame, Halstead?  Huh?”  Voight begins, getting a little red in the face.  This time Olinsky really does grab him by the arm to keep him back.  “Blame those assholes who took your brother.  They’re the ones who did this to him, not me.  I’ve been looking out for that kid from day one, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s family.  And this family takes care of its own.”

“You do realize where we’re standing right now, don’t you?”  Will spits back at him, flabbergasted and getting just as pissed off as Voight yet somehow managing to keep his voice at a reasonable level.  “Jay is stuck in the ICU!  This isn’t some random hospital room.  It’s an  _ Intensive Care Unit _ .  That means 24/7, around the clock care, because my brother can’t even take a piss standing up right now.  Now you wanna tell me how any of that fits into your little  _ family dynamic _ ?”  A small part of him knows he’s being unreasonable, but once the words start, he just can’t seem to hold them back.  “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like utter bullshit to me.  You guys were supposed to have his back!  He trusted you!” 

“I think you and I need to get something straight here, Halstead…” 

“Oh yeah,”  Will snaps, “and what’s that?”

“I’m not the enemy here, Will.”  

He bristles at the use of his first name but Voight just ignores him.  

“Now you want to blame me, fine.  I can take the heat.  But quit trying to punish my team for shit they’ve got no control over.  We ain’t mind readers.  None of us have the ability to predict when shit’s gonna go sideways. Your brother gets that because he’s been on the other side of things like this plenty of times.

“And I’m sorry this happened, Halstead.  I really am. It’s sucks that he got as hurt as he did. But goddammit, point that anger at the people who actually deserve it and let Erin in to see her goddamn partner.”

It’s like a sermon delivered from the pulpit, all doused in holy fire and righteous anger.  Yet everything Voight spouts off at him is true, and Will knows it.  Voight’s hit it right on the head, as hard as that is to admit.  He does need someone to blame, and so far, the easiest people to do that with are the ones standing right in front of him now.  Though that realization hardly quells the fire still burning away inside of him.  

Will is pretty sure if he stays here in their proximity much longer, he’s probably going to do something he’ll regret later, so he squares his shoulders and tries to keep the insincerity out of his voice when he speaks again.

“Jay is sick.  He’s developed pneumonia.  You should only go in there in groups of three and keep the visits as short as you can.  He needs his rest.”

“Fair enough,” Voight replies, for once sounding like he actually means it.  

“I’m going to get something to eat.  Don’t be here when I get back.”

It’s all the mileage Will is willing to give up and Voight doesn’t argue with it.  Nor does he say anything as Will turns on his heel and walks back over to Natalie.

“Will you…”

“My shift ended an hour ago,” she says softly.  “I swear to God I won’t leave his side until you get back.  It’s all going to be okay.”  Will blinks back frustrated tears as he nods.  There’s not enough moisture gathered for anything to tumble down his face, but it's enough to make his eyes shine and betray his heightened emotions.  So after bending down to give Natalie a quick peck on the cheek - an action that surprises both of them and makes her blush - he flees to other parts of the hospital where he doesn’t have to look at any of the people he still blames for all this, despite the growing evidence to the contrary.


	6. Chapter 6

By day three of Jay’s run-in with pneumonia, things have gotten worse.  The breathing exercises aren’t working and that damn oxygen mask is back on his face.  It obscures his features as his temperature climbs and his wheezing intensifies.  The cultures have come back and they’ve adjusted the antibiotics, but its too early to tell if it will make a difference.

To everyone else who visits Jay, it seems like maybe this is the time to start panicking, but Will is obstinately refusing to do so.  He’s worried, sure.  There really is no question about that. His brother works hard day in and day out to pull in enough oxygen to keep the little alarms from going off at the nurse’s station, but this not the end and it certainly isn’t time to give up.  At least, that’s what Will keeps trying to tell himself - and something he’s going to continue trying to tell himself until the day he sees actual defeat there in his brother’s eyes. Up until this point, that hasn’t happened.  So he’s not going to wring his hands and freak out like everyone seems to think he should.  Until he’s shown evidence to the contrary, this is nothing but a snag, a slight hiccup; a bump in the road to Jay’s recovery.  

Will spends a lot of time in the ICU just watching his brother sleep.  Sleep and breathe.  Breathe and sleep.  That’s what life has come down to for the pair of them and it's the weirdest fucking thing in the world to see.  

Even when they were kids, Jay was always moving.  The kid could never sit still.  He wanted action, adventure, anything to take his mind off their less than stellar shared childhood and any excuse to stay out of their dad’s way.  It's probably why Jay became a cop.  There was no shortage of physical activity doing that job.  So maybe that’s why, seeing him now, like this, so still, with his congested lungs and fever-bright eyes, sometimes Will has to pinch himself just to make sure _he_ isn’t the one caught in some neverending nightmare.  He catches himself all the time now half expecting Jay to jump up out of bed, throw his blankets and IVs off and ask when the hell he can get out of here….  But it never happens.

It’s one of the hardest things in the world, sitting idly by while someone you love suffers.  Especially when that someone is dealing with a thing you are supposed to be able to keep them safe from.  Will is a healer, a physician whose oath is to first do no harm.  He saves lives in the ED every day, and yet he can’t reach in there and ease his tortured brother’s mind or release the demons tormenting him and blocking his road to recovery.  Just like he can’t reach into Jay’s slowly congesting lungs and pull out the infection taking root there.  And yet, deep down inside, he knows none of this is his fault.  Just like he knows it isn’t Hank Voight’s fault either.  It’s those assholes who kidnapped his brother in the first place.  And it's the fact that Jay is down a major organ, not to mention one vital to his immune system, and dealing with complications from a collapsed lung, broken ribs, and surgery…  There was always going to be a 50/50 chance that they would have to deal with this.  It's just that no one was expecting Jay to have to fight his demons and a major illness.   

Those demons and everything else finally seem to get the better of him on Day Five in the ICU.  That’s when something changes.  

Jay is listless, has been for days, and is staring up at Will from over his oxygen mask like he’s trying to memorize his face or something.  He breathes in slowly and laboriously and his eyes are bright with the fever that’s hovering right near 103.

“What’s the matter?”  Will asks quietly when he notices Jay is looking at him.  He leans in close.  The bars are down again, Jay having long ago lost the energy and the muscle strength to thrash about in his dreams.

“M’tired,” his brother admits.  Jay’s eyelids slip closed and it's a moment or two before he can raise them again.  

Will swishes a sweaty strand of hair away from his brother’s forehead affectionately.  “That’s one hell of an infection your body’s fighting there, little brother.  It’s ok to be a little tired.”

“Heard you talking,”  Jay speaks again, swallowing convulsively when it seems like he might be sick.  The nausea and the puking just started up again a few hours ago and Will makes a note to talk to Dr. Abrams about adjusting his meds.  Thankfully, the moment passes, and Jay goes on in that stunted, stuttery way he has about his speech now.  

“Don’t - don’t want that… fucking v-vent again.”  

Behind his mask Jay’s teeth chatter and Will pulls the thin hospital blanket covering him up closer to his chin as he shivers.  It seems counterintuitive to tuck a patient with as a high a fever as Jay’s under a blanket, but the chills he’s getting at times are so bad, it’s the best alternative anyone can think of.

“Where did you hear that about the vent?” Will asks gently, surprised.  “Jay, the last thing anyone wants to do is put you back on that thing.  It’s a terrible idea, and our absolute last resort.”  

 _Point of no return’s more like it_ , his mind supplies, but he pushes that thought away.  Actually, he shoves it down and buries it so far down deep inside himself he hopes it never sees the light of day again.

Jay gives him a look over his oxygen mask that makes Will glance away.  There’s something about it that’s scaring the hell out of him.  He hasn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it yet, because if it is what he thinks it is, then it means Jay is about to give up.  And 30 year olds with their whole lives ahead of them don’t just roll over and check out like that.   Especially not 30 year olds named Jay Halstead.  They fight, and they don’t stop until it’s over.

“Will?”

“Yeah?”  He picks at the strap of his sling, refusing to look back over at his brother, no matter how sad and pathetic he makes his voice.

“M’s-sorry I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Jay.”  

_Nope.  He’s not going to look._

“Sling says different.”

“The only reason my arm is in a sling,” Will begins, finally caving and looking back over at his brother against his better judgement, “is because I work in a hospital and all my friends are doctors.  They made me wear this.  In fact, there were death threats.  But I don’t even need it.  See?”  He pulls his arm out of the sling for good measure.  It throbs like the dickens, but he’ll take the pain if it proves the point.  “I’m perfectly fine.”

“M’still sorry.”  Jay replies on a wheezy breath, still managing to sound suitably obstinate, even with his poor, oxygen deprived lungs.  

Will just shakes his head and looks away again.

“Will?”

“Still here,” he answers.

“Maybe...” Jay begins but has to stop when another coughing fit seizes his lungs.  He pulls the oxygen mask away from his face but Will is right there to make sure it’s back in place when he’s finished trying to cough up a lung.  

When it's all said and done Will swears Jay actually looks worse.  There’s a grayness to his skin and a pale, bloodless look to his lips that’s freaking Will the hell out.  

“Maybe, it’s t-time… to call D-Dad.”

Will snaps his head up sharply at that.  “What did you just say?”

“I’m just s-so tired, Will.”

“I know you are,” he replies, scooching his chair in closer to the bed so Jay has nothing to look at but his face.  “I know you are, buddy, but are we really at that point right now, little brother?  Do you really want me to call our Dad?”

Jay gives a weak, one shoulder shrug then tries to turn his face away.  But Will is right there, cupping his cheek with his good hand and forcing Jay to look back at him.  “Is that really what you want me to do?  Cause this feels a little like you’re trying to give up on me.”  He searches those green eyes for some sort of confirmation that this is actually it, the moment of truth.  That moment he’s been waiting for but never actually thought would show up.  “Are you giving up on me, Jay?”

The bruises on Jay’s face have faded to sickly greens and yellows, but their effect has not diminished.  He looks ill.  He looks half dead.  He looks fucking _lost_ as he just stares up at Will, chest loud with congestion while he wheezes and blatantly doesn’t answer the question.  His silence is all the answer Will needs.

Even though it's not something they really do, Will doesn’t move his hand away from Jay’s face, just lets it sit there as he uses the pad of his thumb to stroke the fever-pink skin of his cheek.  His brother’s eyes are heavy with exhaustion but he doesn’t try to shake Will off.  It’s like they’re kids again, older brother trying to ease the hurt from a very sick younger brother.  

“I know you feel like shit right now, but people get post op complications all the time.  This is nothing.  It’s a blip.  Something we’re gonna laugh about next week while we’re watching the Hawks lose.”  A ghost of a smile lifts one corner of Jay’s mouth and Will takes it as a good sign.  “You just gotta rest and let the antibiotics do their job.  You’re going to be fine, Jay.”  His brother lets his eyes shutter closed again, but Will’s still right there when he opens them again a moment later. “And it is most certainly _not_ time to call Dad.”

Jay stares at him for a good long while, nothing but the sounds of the ICU and his own ragged breathing filling the space around them.  Finally he closes his eyes for good on a bone weary sigh as he gives Will the slightest of nods.  Maybe it’s just his eyes watering from being so tired, but Will doesn’t miss it when moisture rolls from one corner of Jay’s right eye and cuts a shiny path down his cheek before hitting Will’s thumb and dispersing.  When he doesn’t open them again, Will gently extricates his hand from his younger brother’s face and watches as Jay finally drops off into a pathetic parody of fever-riddled sleep.  

It _feels_ like maybe he’s gotten through, like the room is lighter somehow now that Will has made it clear to Jay that he does not have his permission to give up.  But whether or not Will has gotten through to his pain in the ass little brother, only time will tell.

Turns out, though, he hasn't.


	7. Chapter 7

Will stays at Jay’s beside for two days straight after that as his brother slowly deteriorates. It occurs to him that maybe he should check in with Goodwin or someone from HR about his arm and his job, but the thought of leaving Jay’s side terrifies him too much. People want to visit all the time too, especially now that Jay is so critical, but he politely asks that no one but family be allowed in. It's the perfect arrangement, considering only Will and Halstead, Senior fit that definition any more. He has no idea if this angers anyone, but he really couldn’t care less at this moment. Jay is hanging on by a thread, and the less exposure he has to the outside world, the better.

Will forgets to eat during most of those two days. Thankfully, he has friends here, and even though he barely registers them, someone has the wherewithal to push water bottles into his hands, and sandwiches into his face at the appropriate times of day. He takes them without comment and without thanks, hoping that once this is all over his rude behavior will be forgiven. He only leaves Jay’s side to go for the necessities, and even that is a painful separation. The bond between them feels precarious, weak, as if only one tug could separate them forever.

Will does a lot of hand holding and pep talks as the hours roll by. Jay has these rare moments of lucidity every so often and that’s when Will seizes the moment to remind him that he can do this. He can get through this. That he’s a Halstead and he has to prove their father wrong and survive this. Halstead the Senior has been in to see his son a few times. It got to the point where Will really did have to call him, but a bout of winter flu has sent him away again; damn fool and his refusal to get vaccinated. So it’s down to Will to keep Jay tethered to this world, and it’s a monumental task he’s trying to undertake.

“Voight was just telling me about a case they’re working on,” Will rambles on to Jay during the one night when his fever climbs so dangerously high the only thing keeping him from febrile seizures is the cold packs tucked in around the various parts of his body and the cooling mattress they’ve transferred him to. He’s maxed out on antipyretics and it’s a last resort. Jay’s also unresponsive at the moment, sleeping fitfully and wheezing loudly under his oxygen mask, but Will continues babbling on anyway as he paces the foot of Jay’s bed. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s restless. Worry and helplessness and anger all roil around in his mind putting him in a permanent state of unease. He’s easily startled and quick to anger and only blathering on nonsensically to his unconscious brother seems to help keep the peace in his soul.

“Says he could really use your help on this one. I told him you just gotta get over this one little hurdle, and then you’d be back to help.” Will stops, collapses back down into his chair and grabs for his brother’s hand, massages the dry, papery skin with a thumb. “So how's about you quit fucking around and start getting better, huh?”

Nothing. There’s no response to his words. The machines beep, his brother wheezes, and the vice around Will’s heart squeezes tighter.

“I mean, I know I’ve always been the better brother, but you don’t have to go and prove it to me like this.”

Still nothing. No twitch of the skin, no flutter of eyelids.

“Come on, you stupid son-of-a-bitch, you can do this.”

Will leans over his brother’s bed and slips his arm out of it’s sling. It hurts, but the pain of the break is nothing compared to the pain in his soul. Taking both sides of Jay’s face between his hands, he presses their foreheads together and gives exactly zero fucks when he openly starts to cry.

“I cannot bury another goddamn member of this family.”

The strangled noises he makes shake his entire frame. He closes his eyes against them and presses a kiss to Jay’s temple. He holds the position, just breathing, letting the familiarity of Jay’s scent and the warmth of his skin permeate his own and letting everything else fall away, mourning the loss of his brother’s smile and the green of his eyes.

“You remember when Mom died?” He begins again, pulling away a little but still keeping contact with Jay’s forehead with his cheek as tears roll down his face and dampen Jay’s brow. “Remember how devastated we all were? We were just kids. Kids bounce back, but Dad… he was never the same. Remember that? Well, same thing's gonna happen again if you check out on us now, Jay. So for the love of God, you gotta keep fighting.”

Will closes his eyes and more tears fall. He holds onto Jay for a fraction of a second longer, before releasing his face and falling back into his chair, completely drained. He’s got nothing left, not even the energy to put his arm back in the sling or glance around the room and make sure no one was there to see that embarrasing little display of emotion. Because there’s nothing on God’s green earth that would get him to do something like again, besides this situation he finds himself in right now.

Will scrubs the wetness away from his face with a sleeve and when that doesn’t stop it from coming, he buries his face in his one good hand, elbow propped up on the reclining chair’s arm. He drifts, maybe even falls asleep, and isn’t coherent again until someone touches him lightly on the shoulder.

He doesn’t mean to, but the touch startles him so badly he nearly jumps out of his chair. He moans when the movement jostles his arm in just the right way. He can’t even remember the last time he took a pain pill for his arm.

“Oh man, Dr. Halstead, I’m so sorry!” Jay’s nurse exclaims, helping him untangle himself from the blanket he can’t recall placing over himself. Funny how that keeps happening.

“No, I’m sorry,” he promises on a yawn. “You just scared me is all.”

“I thought you’d want to know that his fever is breaking,” she smiles at him, showing off the little readout on the thermometer's screen proudly as another nurse comes in and starts removing the cold packs from around Jay.

Will is awake and alert in an instant, grabbing her arm so he can squint at the reading. “When did that happen?”

He leaps out of his chair on the pop of underused joints and heads straight for Jay’s side. He encircles one of his brother’s wrists with his fingers and checks the pulse against his watch. 82/min, not bad actually. He looks up and checks the monitors. O2 is holding steady, everything is looking better.

“Maybe ten minutes ago?” the nurse guesses.

Will could kiss someone right now. It hardly seemed possible an hour or so ago, but it looks like his pain in the ass, pigheaded little brother just might actually be turning a corner. Maybe the pep talk worked.

“Latest vitals?” He asks, still a bit overwhelmed by the sudden and unexpected turn of events.

“Temp is 100.22, respirations 26/min. His last blood pressure was 132/78 and sats are up to 94%,” the nurse - Sylvia, if memory serves - lists off. Will nods. His eyes are still crusty from sleep and the residue of his earlier tears and he digs at them with his knuckles and finally lets himself accept that things are changing, and maybe even for the better. “Page Dr. Abrams, would you?”

“I’d be happy to, Dr. Halstead,” she says, a little too cherry for… Christ, what time is it anyways? He glances at his watch and has to check the window to figure out if that’s 6:30am or 6:30pm.

AM. Go figure.

“Why don’t you go get a cup of coffee,” Sylvia suggests. “We’re going to be working in here for a while and shift change is coming up. Besides, you look like you could really use a break.” People have been saying that alot to him over the past several days and Will is about to argue with her, but, well… she’s got a point. It still feels wrong to leave Jay, like he’s tempting fate by walking away right now, but the idea of a shower in the locker room and a pair of clean scrubs, hell, even a cup of coffee from the actual cafeteria and not the ICU waiting room kitchenette sounds amazing.

Will makes Sylvia promise that she’ll page him if anything changes, then grabs the bag of toiletries he brought with him to the hospital a few days ago and says goodbye to his sleeping brother.

The halls of Chicago Med are quiet. No one is ever usually around this early in the morning, really, and he’s thankful. He can’t go anywhere in this godforsaken place without getting drilled ten times over on how Jay is doing. He manages to make it all the way down to the showers without running into another human being and he locks the door behind him once he’s in. He strips, not even bothering to stuff his mess into a locker and spends a lot longer than he needs to under the warm spray of the water. It feels good on his skin, so he turns the temperature up as high as he can stand it and lets the scalding water scour away the layers of sweat and fear and tension that coat his body. His knuckles sting when the water hits the still healing skin and it’s all just a little on the wrong side of comfortable with his arm, but Will doesn’t care. He braces his good hand against the tile and tries to imagine that’s its just water swirling around his feet and disappearing down the drain, and not his own diluted tears. He’s had enough of those to last a fucking lifetime.

Shower shut off and heavy mist hanging in the air around him, Will dries himself off with a towel, combing through his deviant red hair with a couple brutal passes of a brush. Satisfied with his appearance, he wrestles himself into a wrinkled pair of clean scrubs he had stuffed in his bag, and finally, for the first time in more than a week, feels like a normal person again.

Will makes good on his word and buys a coffee from the Starbucks in the hospital lobby. Just standing beside the counter while the barista prepares his black and white is heaven. The heady, earthy smell of freshly ground beans surrounds him and enfolds him and he’s 100% in better spirits by the time he finally takes the cup from the girl and throws a $5 in the tip jar for good measure. The coffee is hot and just what he needs, and he cradles the warm cup in his cold hands as he makes his way back up to the ICU.

Everything up in the little waiting room just outside the ward is designed to be calming and tranquil, but to Will it just looks like a group of stepford wives threw up over everything. There’s nothing particularly interesting about it, and maybe that’s the point.

He collapses into one of those couches he’s pretty sure is only kept around to dissuade people from actually curling up on it and spending the night, and pulls out his cell phone. There are people he needs to talk to, and the first call he makes is to his father. The conversation with Halstead the elder is short and curt but in the end their dad seems genuinely happy to hear that Jay seems to have turned a corner and even asks Will to keep him in the loop; something he’s happy to agree to. His next call is to Hank Voight. The conversation is even more clipped than the one with his father, but Will’s icy attitude towards his brother’s boss is slowly melting away. He even thinks about calling Erin after that, but decides, in the end, to leave it up to Voight who to tell and when.

He sits for a moment, watching the tail end of an old taping of the Jerry Springer show, mid to late 90s if the hairstyles are any indication, before the pull to see how Jay is doing becomes too strong to ignore. He grabs his coffee from the table and makes his way back onto the ICU ward.

It’s funny the things you notice when you’re no longer under the influence of fear and grief. Colors seem brighter, and he actually registers the faces of the people he passes. He can’t remember the last time he’s looked at someone who wasn't standing right in front of him and directly addressing him about Jay’s condition and he finds himself dipping his head and smiling in greeting with each human he passes. As a bit of the bounce returns to his step, he keeps having to remind himself that Jay isn’t 100% out of the woods just yet and nothing is over in the world of medicine until lab tests confirm it, and even then shit can still go sideways. Still, he’s smiling as he enters his brother’s corner ICU room.

The sheets on Jay’s bed have been changed and while the oxygen mask is still there, he looks more at ease than Will’s seen him in days. Breathing is still visibly difficult for him, but god damned if he isn’t wheezing just a little bit less. Will tosses his phone next to his coffee on the rolling table and takes up his regular chair. Sometimes during shift changes it gets pushed to one side of the room. He doesn’t much care either way, whatever the nurses need to do to make their lives easier, but every so often it gets put back right where he left it. For some reason, today this makes him grin. He settles into it, no longer perturbed by its lumpiness and uncomfortable cushion, and watches as the sun rises over Chicago through the hospital room’s window.


	8. Chapter 8

On the ninth day of Jay’s ICU confinement, they finally move him to a regular room. It’s on a completely different floor of the hospital, in one of those wards where the nurses only come in to check and make sure their patients haven’t died accidently during the night. Ok, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the experience is definitely different here. The lights are brighter and the window blinds are open, and people talk at normal levels in the halls.

Will goes back to work once Jay is officially deemed ‘out of the woods’. And his brother... well, Jay decides to take up professional complaining as a hobby while he’s waiting to be discharged. Even so, Will visits him every chance he gets, though they don’t talk much about what happened in the ICU. Or about his kidnapping and torture. From what Will’s been able to gather, Jay doesn’t remember much of it anyway. Or at least, that’s what he’s telling people. Some of the trauma is still visible. It’s painted across his skin now in the form of barely there bruises and 5 inch scars. The bruises will disappear, but no one can do much about the scars.

New hospital room means new rules, and visitors are allowed in again. Half the force seems to take advantage of that fact, and they all stream in through Jay’s room at all hours of the day and night until one harried nurse finally approaches Will and practically demands that he speak with his friends and explain to them the meaning of word visiting hours because this is a hospital, not a precinct, for goodness sakes. Will laughs at that, but agrees to her face... then conveniently forgets to tell anyone else about it at all. The company is good for Jay, who grows stronger every day, so Will’s not about to deny him his friends.

The only lingering effect of his ordeal seems to be the dreams, but Will figures there will be time enough to deal with that aspect of things once Jay is healed physically. It can’t be ignored, the past taught him that lesson long ago, but for now Will’s just content to have his brother back, alive and well.

“They say I can get outta here tomorrow,” Jay informs him one sunny Chicago afternoon as they sit playing chess on the room’s rollout table. Jay is propped up in the bed with pillows. He’s off oxygen, and looking more like himself than he has in days.

“Oh yeah?” Will asks absently, chewing his bottom lip as he contemplates his next move. He wants to try and draw out Jay’s queen. The damn fool’s never been any good at keeping her back so it shouldn’t be too difficult.

“Yeah. So can you drive me?” Jay prods, trying and failing to hide his impatience as Will continues to study the board between them.

He decides to go for it and captures one of Jay’s pawns with a knight before glancing up at his brother. “Did they say what time?”

“9ish?” Jay replies, just as the word catches in his throat and he starts to cough. He turns his head to the side and covers his mouth with a fist. It takes him a while, but the cough is wet and productive and not nearly as bad as it has been the past few days. He’s panting a bit when he’s finished, but otherwise he seems alright. He grabs for his bishop and slides it down the board. “Check.”

Will scowls. Well shit.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jay continues.

“Huh?”

“Can you drive me home?”

“Yeah, of course I can,” he says, looking up after saving his King from the clutches of certain death with a smile.

Will has somehow managed to talk Jay into letting him stay at his place for at least the first few days he’s home. The broken ribs are hard enough to deal with on their own, but then there are the bandages to contend with and PT to get to. Plus, the nightmares are still interrupting his sleep and Will would prefer he not be alone for all that. Honestly, he’d been expecting a huge fight from his younger brother over the subject, but Jay actually seemed kind of good with the idea. Still is, if the shit eating grin on his face is anything to go by.

“What?” Will asks, worried they are dangerously close to a chick flick moment. He’s had enough of those in the past few weeks to last a lifetime.

“You don’t see it, do you?” Jay laughs.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Jay chuckles again and taps one of Will’s captured pawns against the table. Its one of his tells. Something is up.

“Are you sure you don't need a few more days in here?” Will ribbs him. “Maybe a visit from psych?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” Jay replies in mock affront, the mischief still bright behind his eyes.

“Then what in the hell are you grinning about?”

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what, Jay?”

“Checkmate, dude,” Jay announces triumphantly, maneuvering a bishop Will forgot all about up near his king. Jay’s roommate on the other side of the curtain grunts in annoyance at the noise they’re making but doesn’t say anything. With a little flick of his finger, Jay knocks Will’s king over onto its side. “Check and mate.”

“No friggin’ way!” Will eyes the board critically, completely dumbfounded.

Jay laughs, clutching at his stomach a little when it pulls at his still healing surgery scar. “Again,” he half challenges/half demands.

Will feels something dislodge from around his heart at the sight of his brother so happy and alive. It’s a heaviness he never even realized was still lingering there until it fell away completely. Now that it’s gone, it’s like he can breathe again.

“Oh, you’re on, little brother,” Will Halstead smiles, beginning to replace his pieces. “You are so on.”

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this little fic, please consider taking a moment to leave me your thoughts in a review. Fandom talks a big game about bringing comments back, but it still feels like a bit of a wasteland out here in Ficville these days.
> 
> I may write a sequel to this regarding Jay’s PTSD from the kidnapping, but for now, I hope you enjoyed the whump! Catch ya in the next one!


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